By  Ethel  M.  Detl 

The  Way  of  an  Eagle 

The  Knave  of  Diamonds 

The  Rocks  of  Valpre 

The  Swindler,  and  Other  Stories 

The  Keeper  of  the  Door 

The  Bars  of  Iron 

The  Hundredth  Chance 

The  Safety  Curtain,  and  Other 
Stories 

Greatheart 


Rosa  Mundi 

and  Other  Stories 


Rosa  Mundi 

and 

Other  Stories 


By 

Ethel  M.  Dell 

Author  of  "  The  Way  of  an  Eagle,"  "The  Top  of 
the  World,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

3be  fmlcfcerbocket    press 

1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 

BY 
ETHEL  M.  DELL 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ROSA   MUNDI 3 

A   DEBT  OP   HONOUR 

I. — HOPE  AND  THE  MAGICIAN        .         .  37 

II. — THE  VISITOR  39 

III. — THE  FRIEND  IN  NEED     ...  44 

IV. — HER  NATURAL  PROTECTOR       .         .  49 

V. — MORE  THAN  A  FRIEND    ...  54 

VI. — HER  ENEMY 58 

VII.— THE  SCRAPE 61 

VIII. — BEFORE  THE  RACE           ...  65 

IX.— THE  RACE      .                  ...  67 

X. — THE  ENEMY'S  TERMS      .  71 

XL — WITHOUT  DEFENCE          ...  77 

XII.— THE  PENALTY  .         .81 

XIII. — THE  CURSE  OF  THE  VALLEY    .         .  87 

XIV. — How  THE  TALE  WAS  TOLD       .         .  89 

XV. — THE  NIGHT  OF  DESPAIR.         .         .  92 

XVI. — THE  COMING  OF  HOPE    .         .  95 


vi  Contents 

PAGE 

THE  DELIVERER 

I. — A  PROMISE  OF  MARRIAGE        .  .       99 

II. — A  RING  OF  VALUE           .         .  .     105 

III. — THE  HONEYMOON    .         .         .  .     in 

IV. — A  GRIEVOUS  WOUND       .         .  .120 

V. — A  STRUGGLE  FOR  MASTERY      .  .125 

VI. — AN  OFFER  OF  HELP                  .  .133 

VII. — THE  DELIVERER      ....     138 

VIII. — AFTER  THE  ACCIDENT      .         .  .     142 

IX. — THE  END  OF  A  MYSTERY  .     148 

X. — TAKEN  TO  TASK      .  .     154 

XI. — MONEY'S  NOT  EVERYTHING      .  .160 

XII. — AFTERWARDS — LOVE         .         .  .165 

THE  PREY  OF  THE   DRAGON           .           .  .169 
THE  SECRET  SERVICE  MAN 

I. — A  TIGHT  PLACE      ....     257 

II. — A  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP    .         .  .     266 

III. — DERRICK'S  PARADISE       .         .  .     270 

IV. — CARLYON  DEFENDS  HIMSELF    .  .276 

V. — A  WOMAN'S  FORGIVENESS  .     285 

VI. — FIEND  OR  KING?     .         .  .     292 

VII. — THE  REAL  COLONEL  CARLYON  298 


Contents  vii 


PAGE 


VIII. — THE  STRANGER  ON  THE  VERANDA    .     304 

IX. — A  FIGHT  IN  THE  NIGHT  .         .         .313 

X. — SAVED  A  SECOND  TIME    .         .         .317 

XI. — THE  SECRET  OUT    ....     320 

THE  PENALTY 3^4 


Rosa  Mundi 

and  Other  Stories 


Rosa   Mundi 

WAS  the  water  blue,  or  was  it  purple  that  day  ? 
Randal  Courteney  stretched  his  lazy  length  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  great  natural  breakwater  that 
protected  Hurley  Bay  from  the  Atlantic  rollers, 
and  wondered.  It  was  a  day  in  late  September, 
but  the  warmth  of  it  was  as  a  dream  of  summer 
returned.  The  season  was  nearly  over,  or  he 
had  not  betaken  himself  thither,  but  the  spell  of 
heat  had  prolonged  it  unduly.  It  had  been  some 
thing  of  a  shock  to  him  to  find  the  place  still 
occupied  by  a  buzzing  crowd  of  visitors.  He 
never  came  to  it  till  he  judged  the  holidays  to 
be  practically  over.  For  he  loved  it  only  when 
empty.  His  idea  of  rest  was  solitude. 

He  wondered  how  long  this  pearly  weather 
would  last,  and  scanned  the  sky  for  a  cloud.  In 
vain!  There  was  no  cloud  all  round  that  blue 
horizon,  and  behind  him  the  cliffs  stood  stark 
against  an  azure  sky.  Summer  was  lingering,  and 
even  he  had  not  the  heart  to  wish  her  gone. 

Something  splashed  noisily  on  the  other  side  of 
the  rocky  breakwater.  Something  squeaked  and 
gurgled.  The  man  frowned.  He  had  tramped  a 

3 


4  Rosa  Mundi 

considerable  distance  to  secure  privacy.  He  had 
his  new  novel  to  think  out.  This  invasion  was 
intolerable.  He  had  not  even  smoked  the  first 
pipe  of  his  meditations.  Impatiently  he  prepared 
to  rise  and  depart. 

But  in  that  moment  a  voice  accosted  him,  and  in 
spite  of  himself  he  paused.  "I  want  to  get  over 
the  breakwater,"  said  the  voice.  "There's  such 
a  large  crab  lives  this  side." 

It  was  an  engaging  voice — a  voice  with  soft, 
lilting  notes  in  it — the  voice  of  a  child. 

Courteney's  face  cleared  a  little.  The  grimness 
went  out  of  his  frown,  the  reluctance  from  his 
attitude.  He  stood  up  against  the  rocky  barrier 
and  stretched  his  hands  over  to  the  unseen  owner 
of  the  voice. 

"I'll  help  you,"  he  said. 

' '  Oh ! "  There  was  an  instant's  pause ;  then  two 
other  hands,  wet,  cool,  slender,  came  up,  clasping 
his.  A  little  leap,  a  sudden  strain,  and  a  very  pink 
face  beneath  a  cloud  of  golden  hair  laughed  down 
into  his.  "You  must  pull,"  she  said;  "pull 
hard!" 

Courteney  obeyed  instructions.  He  pulled,  and 
a  pair  of  slim  shoulders  clad  in  white,  with  a  blue 
sailor  collar,  came  into  view.  He  pulled  again,  and 
a  white  knee  appeared,  just  escaping  a  blue  serge 
skirt.  At  the  third  pull  she  was  over  and  standing, 
bare-footed,  by  his  side.  It  had  been  a  fairy  leap. 
He  marvelled  at  the  lightness  of  her  till  he  saw  her 
standing  so,  with  merry  eyes  upraised  to  his.  Then 


Rosa  Mundi  5 

he  laughed,  for  she  was  laughing — the  infectious 
laugh  of  the  truant. 

"Oh,  thank  you  ever  so  much,"  she  said.  "I 
knew  it  was  much  nicer  this  side  than  the  other. 
No  one  can  see  us  here,  either." 

' '  Is  that  why  you  wanted  to  get  over  ? "  he  asked. 

She  nodded,  her  pink  face  all  mystery.  "It's 
nice  to  get  away  from  everyone  sometimes,  isn't 
it?  Even  Rosa  Mundi  thinks  that.  Did  you 
know  that  she  is  here?  It  is  being  kept  a  dead 
secret." 

' '  Rosa  Mundi ! ' '  Courteney  started.  He  looked 
down  into  the  innocent  face  upraised  to  his  with 
something  that  was  almost  horror  in  his  own. 
"Do  you  mean  that  dancing  woman  from  Austra 
lia?  What  can  a  child  like  you  know  of  her? " 

She  smiled  at  him,  the  mystery  still  in  her  eyes. 
"  I  do  know  her.  I  belong  to  her.  Do  you  know 
her,  too?" 

A  sudden  hot  flush  went  up  over  Courteney's 
face.  He  knew  the  woman;  yes,  he  knew  her. 
Was  it  years  ago — or  was  it  but  yesterday? — that 
he  had  yielded  to  the  importunities  of  his  friend, 
young  Eric  Baron,  and  gone  to  see  her  dance? 
The  boy  had  been  infatuated,  wild  with  the  lure  of 
her.  Ah  well,  it  was  over  now.  She  had  been  his 
ruin,  just  as  she  had  been  the  ruin  of  others  like 
him.  Baron  was  dead  and  free  for  ever  from  the 
evil  spell  of  his  enchantress.  But  he  had  not 
thought  to  hear  her  name  in  this  place  and  on  the 
lips  of  a  child. 


6  Rosa  Mundi 

It  revolted  him.  For  she  had  utterly  failed  to 
attract  his  fancy.  He  was  fastidious,  and  all  he 
had  seen  in  her  had  been  the  sensuous  charm  of  a 
sinuous  grace  which,  to  him,  was  no  charm  at  all. 
He  had  almost  hated  her  for  the  abject  adoration 
that  young  Eric's  eyes  had  held.  Her  art,  wonder 
ful  though  he  admitted  it  to  be,  had  wholly  failed 
to  enslave  him.  He  had  looked  her  once — and 
once  only — in  the  eyes,  judged  her,  and  gone  his 
way. 

And  now  this  merry -eyed,  rosy-faced  child  came, 
fairy-footed,  over  the  barrier  of  his  reserve,  and 
spoke  with  a  careless  familiarity  of  the  only  being 
in  the  world  whom  he  had  condemned  as  beyond 
the  pale. 

"I'm  not  supposed  to  tell  anyone,"  she  said, 
with  sapphire  eyes  uplifted  confidingly  to  his. 
"She  isn't — really — here  before  the  end  of  the 
week.  You  won't  tell,  will  you?  Only  when  I 
saw  you  plodding  along  out  here  by  yourself,  I  just 
had  to  come  and  tell  you,  to  cheer  you  up." 

He  stood  and  looked  at  her,  not  knowing  what 
to  say.  It  was  as  if  some  adverse  fate  were  at 
work,  driving  him,  impelling  him. 

The  soft  eyes  sparkled  into  laughter.  ' '  I  know 
who  you  are,"  chuckled  the  gay  voice  on  a  high 
note  of  merriment.  "You  are  Randal  Courteney, 
the  writer.  It's  not  a  bit  of  good  trying  to  hide, 
because  everybody  knows." 

He  attempted  a  frown,  but  failed  in  its  achieve 
ment.  "And  who  are  you?"  he  said,  looking 


Rosa  Mundi  7 

straight  into  the  daring,  trusting  eyes.  She  was 
not  beautiful,  but  her  eyes  were  wonderful;  they 
held  a  mystery  that  beckoned  and  eluded  in  the 
same  subtle  moment. 

"I?"  she  said.  "I  am  her  companion,  her  fa 
miliar  spirit.  Sometimes  she  calls  me  her  angel." 

The  man  moved  as  if  something  had  stung  him, 
but  he  checked  himself  with  instinctive  self-control. 
' '  And  your  name  ? "  he  said. 

She  turned  out  her  hands  with  a  little  gesture 
that  was  utterly  unstudied  and  free  from  self- 
consciousness.  "My  name  is  Rosemary,"  she 
said.  ' '  It  means — remembrance." 

"You  are  her  adopted  child?"  Courteney  was 
looking  at  her  curiously.  Out  of  what  part  of 
Rosa  Mundi 's  strange,  fretted  existence  had  the 
desire  for  remembrance  sprung  to  life?  He  had 
deemed  her  a  woman  of  many  episodes,  each  for 
gotten  as  its  successor  took  its  place.  Yet  it 
seemed  this  child  held  a  corner  in  her  memory 
that  was  to  last. 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  sun.  "We  have 
adopted  each  other,"  she  said  naively.  "When 
Rosa  Mundi  is  old,  I  shall  take  her  place,  so  that 
she  may  still  be  remembered." 

The  words,  "Heaven  forbid!"  were  on  Cour- 
teney's  lips.  He  checked  them  sharply,  but  some 
thing  of  his  original  grimness  returned  as  he  said, 
"And  now  that  you  are  on  the  other  side  of  the 
breakwater,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  speculatively,  and  in  a 


8  Rosa  Mundi 

moment  tossed  back  the  short  golden  curls  that 
clustered  at  her  neck.  She  was  sublimely  young. 
In  the  eyes  of  the  man,  newly  awakened,  she  had 
the  look  of  one  who  has  seen  life  without  compre 
hending  it.  "I  always  like  to  get  the  other  side 
of  things,  don't  you?"  she  said.  "But  I  won't 
stay  with  you  if  you  are  bored.  I  am  going 
right  to  the  end  of  the  rocks  to  see  the  tide 
come  in." 

"And  be  washed  away?"  suggested  Courteney. 

"Oh  no,"  she  assured  him  confidently.  "That 
won't  happen.  I'm  not  nearly  so  young  as  I  look. 
I  only  dress  like  this  when  I  want  to  enjoy  myself. 
Rosa  Mundi  says ' ' — her  eyes  were  suddenly  merry 
—"that  I'm  not  respectable.  Now,  don't  you 
think  that  sounds  rather  funny?" 

"From  her — yes,"  said  Courteney. 

' '  You  don't  like  her  ? "  The  shrewd  curiosity  of 
a  child  who  desires  understanding  upon  a  forbidden 
subject  was  in  the  question. 

The  man  evaded  it.  "I  have  never  seen  her 
except  in  the  limelight." 

"And  you  didn't  like  her — then?"  Keen  dis 
appointment  sounded  in  her  voice. 

His  heart  smote  him.  The  child  was  young, 
though  possibly  not  so  young  as  she  looked.  She 
had  her  ideals,  and  they  would  be  shattered  soon 
enough  without  any  help  from  him. 

With  a  brief  laugh  he  turned  aside,  dismissing 
the  subject.  ' '  That  form  of  entertainment  doesn't 
appeal  to  me  much,"  he  said.  "Now  it's  your 


Rosa  Mundi  9 

turn  to  tell  me  something.  I  have  been  wondering 
about  the  colour  of  that  sea.  Would  you  call  it 
blue — or  purple  ? ' ' 

She  looked,  and  again  the  mystery  was  in  her 
face.  For  a  moment  she  did  not  speak.  Then, 
"It  is  violet,"  she  said — "the  colour  of  Rosa 
Mundi 's  eyes." 

Ere  the  frown  had  died  from  his  face  she  was 
gone,  pattering  lightly  over  the  sand,  flitting  like  a 
day-dream  into  the  blinding  sunshine  that  seemed 
to  drop  a  veil  behind  her,  leaving  him  to  his 
thoughts. 


Randal  Courteney  was  an  old  and  favoured 
guest  at  the  Hurley  Bay  Hotel.  From  his  own 
particular  corner  of  the  great  dining-room  he  was 
accustomed  to  look  out  upon  the  world  that  came 
and  went.  Frequently  when  he  was  there  the 
place  was  almost  deserted,  and  always  he  had  been 
treated  as  the  visitor  of  most  importance.  But 
to-night,  for  the  first  time,  he  found  himself  sup 
planted.  Someone  of  more  importance  was  stay 
ing  in  the  hotel,  someone  who  had  attracted 
crowds,  whose  popularity  amounted  almost  to 
idolatry. 

The  hotel  was  full,  but  Courteney,  despite  his 
far-reaching  fame,  was  almost  entirely  overlooked. 
News  had  spread  that  the  wonderful  Australian 
dancer  was  to  perform  at  the  Pier  Pavilion  at  the 
end  of  the  week,  and  the  crowds  had  gathered  to 


io  Rosa  Mundi 

do  her  honour.  They  were  going  to  strew  the 
Pier  with  roses  on  the  night  of  her  appearance,  and 
they  were  watching  even  now  for  the  first  sign  of 
her  with  all  the  eager  curiosity  that  marks  down 
any  celebrity  as  fair  prey.  Courteney  smiled 
grimly  to  himself.  How  often  it  had  been  his 
lot  to  evade  the  lion-hunters !  It  was  an  unspeak 
able  relief  to  have  the  general  attention  thus 
diverted  from  himself.  Doubtless  Rosa  Mundi 
would  revel  in  it.  It  was  her  role  in  life,  the  touch 
stone  of  her  profession.  Adulation  was  the  very 
air  she  breathed. 

He  wondered  a  little  to  find  her  seeking  privacy, 
even  for  a  few  days.  Just  a  whim  of  hers,  no 
doubt!  Was  she  not  ever  a  creature  of  whims? 
And  it  would  not  last.  He  remembered  how  once 
young  Eric  Baron  had  told  him  that  she  needed 
popularity  as  a  flower  needs  the  sun.  His  rose  of 
the  world  had  not  been  created  to  bloom  unseen. 
The  boy  had  been  absurdly  long-suffering, 
unbelievably  blind.  How  bitter,  how  cruel,  had 
been  his  disillusion,  Courteney  could  only  guess. 
Had  she  ever  cared,  ever  regretted,  he  wondered? 
But  no,  he  was  sure  she  had  not.  She  would  care 
for  nothing  until  the  bloom  faded.  Then,  indeed, 
possibly,  remorse  might  come. 

Someone  passing  his  table  paused  and  spoke — 
the  managing  director  of  the  Hurley  Bay  Theatre 
and  of  a  score  of  others,  a  man  he  knew  slightly, 
older  than  himself.  "The  hive  swarms  in  vain," 
he  said.  "The  queen  refuses  to  emerge." 


Rosa  Mundi  " 

Courteney's  expression  was  supremely  cynical. 
' '  I  was  not  aware  that  she  was  of  such  a  retiring 
disposition,"  he  said. 

The  other  man  laughed.  He  was  an  American, 
Ellis  Grant  by  name,  a  man  of  gross  proportions, 
but  keen-eyed,  iron-jawed,  and  successful. 
"There  is  a  rumour, "he  said,  "that  she  is  about 
to  be  married.  Possibly  that  might  account  for 
her  shyness." 

His  look  was  critical.  Courteney  threw  back 
his  head  almost  with  defiance.  "It  doesn't  inter 
est  me,"  he  said  curtly. 

Ellis  Grant  laughed  again  and  passed  on.  He 
valued  his  acquaintanceship  with  the  writer.  He 
would  not  jeopardize  it  with  over-much  familiarity. 
But  he  did  not  believe  in  the  utter  lack  of  interest 
that  he  professed.  No  living  man  who  knew  her 
could  be  wholly  indifferent  to  the  doings  of  Rosa 
Mundi.  The  fiery  charm  of  her,  her  passionate 
vitality,  made  that  impossible. 

Courteney  finished  his  dinner  and  went  out.  The 
night  was  almost  as  hot  as  the  day  had  been.  He 
turned  his  back  on  the  Pier,  that  was  lighted  from 
end  to  end,  and  walked  away  down  the  long  parade. 

He  was  beginning  to  wish  himself  out  of  the 
place.  He  had  an  absurd  feeling  of  being  caught 
in  some  web  of  Fate  that  clung  to  him  tenaciously, 
strive  as  he  would.  Grant's  laugh  of  careless 
incredulity  pursued  him.  There  had  been  triumph 
also  in  that  laugh.  No  doubt  the  fellow  antici 
pated  a  big  haul  on  Rosa  Mundi 's  night. 


12  Rosa  Mundi 

And  again  there  rose  before  him  the  memory 
of  young  Eric  Baron's  ardent  face.  "I'd  marry 
her  to-morrow  if  she'd  have  me,"  the  boy  had  said 
to  him  once. 

The  boy  had  been  a  fool,  but  straight.  The 
woman — well,  the  woman  was  not  the  marrying 
sort.  He  was  certain  of  that.  She  was  elusive 
as  a  flame.  Impatiently  yet  again  he  flung  the 
thought  of  her  from  him.  What  did  it  matter  to 
him?  Why  should  he  be  haunted  by  her  thus? 
He  would  not  suffer  it. 

He  tramped  to  the  end  of  the  parade  and  stood 
looking  out  over  the  dark  sea.  He  was  sorry  for 
that  adopted  child  of  hers.  That  face  of  innocence 
rose  before  him  clear  against  the  gathering  dark. 
Not  much  chance  for  the  child,  it  seemed !  Utterly 
unspoilt  and  unsophisticated  at  present,  and  the 
property  of  that  demi-mondaine  I  He  wondered 
if  there  could  be  any  relationship  between  them. 
There  was  something  in  the  child's  eyes  that  in 
some  strange  fashion  recalled  the  eyes  of  Rosa 
Mundi.  So  might  she  once  have  gazed  in  in 
nocence  upon  a  world  unknown. 

Again,  almost  savagely,  he  strove  to  thrust  away 
the  thoughts  that  troubled  him.  The  child  was 
bound  to  be  contaminated  sooner  or  later ;  but  what 
was  that  to  him  ?  It  was  out  of  his  power  to  de 
liver  her.  He  was  no  rescuer  of  damsels  in  distress. 

So  he  put  away  from  him  the  thought  of  Rosa 
Mundi  and  the  thought  of  the  child  called  Rose 
mary  who  had  come  to  him  out  of  the  morning 


Rosa  Mundi  13 

sunlight,  and  went  back  to  his  hotel  doggedly 
determined  that  neither  the  one  nor  the  other 
should  disturb  his  peace  of  mind.  He  would  take 
refuge  in  his  work,  and  forget  them. 

But  late  that  night  he  awoke  from  troubled 
sleep  to  hear  Ellis  Grant  laugh  again  in  careless 
triumph — the  laugh  of  the  man  who  knows  that 
he  has  drawn  a  prize. 


It  was  not  a  restful  night  for  Randal  Courteney, 
and  in  the  early  morning  he  was  out  again,  striding 
over  the  sunlit  sands  towards  his  own  particular 
bathing-cove  beyond  the  breakwater. 

The  tide  was  coming  in,  and  the  dashing  water 
filled  all  the  world  with  its  music.  A  brisk  wind 
was  blowing,  and  the  waves  were  high. 

It  was  the  sort  of  sea  that  Courteney  revelled  in, 
and  he  trusted  that,  at  that  early  hour  he  would  be 
free  from  all  intrusion.  So  accustomed  to  privacy 
was  he  that  he  had  come  to  regard  the  place  almost 
as  his  own. 

But  as  he  topped  the  breakwater  he  came  upon  a 
sight  that  made  him  draw  back  in  disgust.  A 
white  mackintosh  lay  under  a  handful  of  stones 
upon  the  shingly  beach.  He  surveyed  it  sus 
piciously,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  fears  that  he 
is  about  to  walk  into  a  trap. 

Then,  his  eyes  travelling  seaward,  he  spied  a  red 
cap  bobbing  up  and  down  in  the  spray  of  the 
dancing  waves. 


14  Rosa  Mundi 

The  impulse  to  turn  and  retrace  his  steps  came 
to  him,  but  some  unknown  force  restrained  him. 
He  remembered  suddenly  the  current  that  had 
more  than  once  drawn  him  out  of  his  course  when 
bathing  in  those  waters,  and  the  owner  of  the  red 
cap  was  alone.  He  stood,  uncertain,  on  the  top  of 
the  breakwater,  and  watched. 

Two  minutes  later  the  very  event  he  had 
pictured  was  taking  place  under  his  eyes,  and  he 
was  racing  over  the  soft  sand  below  the  shingle 
at  the  top  of  his  speed.  Two  arms  were  beating 
wildly  out  in  the  shining  sparkle  of  water,  as  though 
they  strove  against  the  invisible  bars  of  a  cage, 
and  a  voice — the  high,  frightened  voice  of  a  child — 
was  calling  for  help. 

He  flung  off  his  coat  as  he  ran,  and  dashed  with 
out  an  instant's  pause  straight  into  the  green 
foaming  waves.  The  water  swirled  around  him 
as  he  struck  out;  he  clove  his  way  through  it,  all 
his  energies  concentrated  upon  the  bobbing  red 
cap  and  struggling  arms  ahead  of  him.  Lifted 
on  the  crest  of  a  rushing  wave,  he  saw  her,  helpless 
as  an  infant  in  the  turmoil.  Her  terrified  eyes 
were  turned  his  way,  wildly  beseeching  him.  He 
fought  with  the  water  to  reach  her. 

He  realized  as  he  drew  nearer  that  she  was  not 
wholly  inexperienced.  She  was  working  against 
the  current  to  keep  herself  up,  but  no  longer 
striving  to  escape  it.  He  saw  with  relief  that  she 
had  not  lost  her  head. 

He  had  been  prepared  to  approach  her  with 


Rosa  Mundi  15 

caution,  but  she  sent  him  a  sudden,  brave  smile 
that  reassured  him. 

"Be  quick!"  she  gasped.     "I'm  nearly  done." 

The  current  caught  him,  but  with  a  powerful 
stroke  or  two  he  righted  his  course  and  reached  her. 
Her  hand  closed  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  she  panted,  and  despite  the 
distress  of  her  breathing,  he  caught  the  note  of 
confidence  in  her  voice. 

"We've  got  to  get  out  of  it,"  he  made  grim 
answer.  "Get  your  hand  in  my  belt;  that'll  help 
you  best.  Then,  when  you're  ready,  strike  out 
with  the  other  and  make  for  the  open  sea!  We 
shall  get  out  of  this  infernal  current  that  way." 

She  obeyed  him  implicitly,  asking  no  question. 
Side  by  side  they  drew  out  of  the  current,  the  man 
pulling  strongly,  his  companion  seconding  his 
efforts  with  a  fitfulness  that  testified  to  her  failing 
powers.  They  reached  calmer  water  at  length, 
and  then  curtly  he  ordered  her  to  turn  on  her 
back  and  rest. 

Again  without  a  word  she  obeyed  him,  and  he 
floated  beside  her,  supporting  her.  The  early  sun 
smote  down  upon  them  with  increasing  strength. 
Her  face  was  deathly  pale  against  the  red  of  her 
cap. 

"We  must  get  to  shore,"  said  Courteney,  observ 
ing  her. 

"That  dreadful  current!"  she  gasped  through 
quivering  lips. 

"No.     We   can   avoid  that.     It  will   mean  a 


16  Rosa  Mundi 

scamper  over  the  sands  when  we  get  there,  but 
that  will  do  you  good.  Stay  as  you  are!  I  will 
tow  you." 

Had  she  been  less  obedient,  he  would  have  found 
his  task  infinitely  harder.  But  she  was  absolutely 
submissive  to  his  will.  Ten  minutes  later  he 
landed  her  close  to  his  own  bathing-cove,  which 
he  discovered  with  relief  to  be  deserted. 

She  would  have  subsided  in  a  heap  upon  the 
sand  the  moment  she  felt  it  warm  and  dry  beneath 
her  feet ;  but  he  held  her  up. 

"No.  A  good  run  is  what  you  need.  Come! 
Your  mackintosh  is  half-a-mile  away." 

She  looked  at  him  with  dismay,  but  he  remained 
inexorable.  He  had  no  desire  to  have  her  fainting 
on  his  hands.  As  if  she  had  been  a  boy,  he  gripped 
her  by  the  elbow. 

Again  she  submitted  stumblingly  to  his  behest, 
but  when  they  had  covered  half  the  distance 
Courteney  had  mercy. 

"You're  fagged  out,"  he  said.  "Rest  here  while 
I  go  and  fetch  it !" 

She  sank  down  thankfully  on  the  shingle,  and 
he  strode  swiftly  on. 

When  he  returned  she  had  hollowed  a  nest  for 
herself,  and  was  lying  curled  up  in  the  sun.  Her 
head  was  pillowed  on  her  cap,  and  the  soft  golden 
curls  waved  tenderly  above  her  white  forehead. 
Once  more  she  seemed  to  him  a  mere  child,  and  he 
looked  down  upon  her  with  compassion. 

She  sat  up  at  his  approach  with  a  boyish,  alert 


Rosa  Mundi  17 

movement,  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  his.  He  likened 
them  half-unconsciously  to  the  purple-blue  of 
hare-bells,  in  the  ardent  light  of  the  early  morning. 

"You  are  kind!"  she  said  gratefully. 

He  placed  the  white  mackintosh  around  her  slim 
figure.  "Take  my  advice,"  he  said  in  his  brief 
fashion,  "and  don't  come  bathing  alone  in  this 
direction  again!" 

She  made  a  small  shy  gesture  of  invitation. 
"Sit  down  a  minute!"  she  said  half -pleadingly. 
' '  I  know  you  are  very  wet ;  but  the  sun  is  so  warm, 
and  they  say  sea-water  never  chills." 

He  hesitated  momentarily;  then,  possibly  be 
cause  she  had  spoken  with  so  childlike  an  appeal, 
he  sat  down  in  the  shingle  beside  her. 

She  stretched  out  a  slender  hand  to  him,  almost 
as  though  feeling  her  way.  And  when  he  took  it 
she  made  a  slight  movement  towards  him,  as  of 
one  about  to  make  a  confidence.  "Now  we  can 
talk,"  she  said. 

He  let  her  hand  go  again,  and  felt  in  the  pocket 
of  his  coat,  which  he  carried  on  his  arm,  for  his 
pipe. 

She  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him.  "Mr.  Courte- 
ney,"  she  said,  "doesn't  Thank  you'  sound  a  silly 
thing  to  say  ? ' ' 

He  drew  back.  ' '  Don't !  Please  don't ! "  he  said, 
and  flushed  uneasily  as  he  opened  his  tobacco- 
pouch.  "I  would  infinitely  rather  you  said 
nothing  at  all  to  any  one.  Don't  do  it  again,  that's 
all." 


1 8  Rosa  Mundi 

"Mustn't  I  even  tell  Rosa  Mundi?"  she  said. 

His  flush  deepened  as  he  remembered  that  she 
would  probably  know  him  by  name.  She  must 
have  known  in  those  far-off  Australian  days  that 
he  was  working  with  all  his  might  to  free  young 
Baron  from  her  toils. 

He  sat  in  silence  till,  "Will  you  tell  me  some 
thing?"  whispered  Rosemary,  leaning  nearer. 

He  stiffened  involuntarily.     "I  don't  know." 

' '  Please  try ! ' '  she  urged  softly.  ' '  I  feel  sure  you 
can.  Why — why  don't  you  like  Rosa  Mundi?" 

He  looked  at  her,  and  his  eyes  were  steely;  but 
they  softened  by  imperceptible  degrees  as  they 
met  the  earnest  sweetness  of  her  answering  look. 
"No,  I  can't  tell  you  that,"  he  said  with  decision. 

But  her  look  held  him.  "Is  it  because  you 
don't  think  she  is  very  good?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said  again. 

Still  she  looked  at  him,  and  again  there  seemed 
to  be  in  her  eyes  that  expression  of  a  child  who  has 
seen  life  without  understanding  it.  "Perhaps  you 
think  I  am  too  young  to  know  good  from  evil,"  she 
said  after  a  moment.  ' '  I  am  not.  I  have  told  you 
I  am  older  than  I  look,  and  in  some  things  I  am 
older  even  than  my  years.  Then,  too,  I  belong  to 
Rosa  Mundi.  I  told  you,  didn't  I?  I  am  her 
familiar  spirit.  She  has  even  called  me  her  angel, 
or  her  better  self.  I  know  a  great  many  things 
about  her,  and  some  of  them  are  very  sad.  May 
I  tell  you  some  of  the  things  I  know?" 

He  turned  his  eyes  away  from  her  abruptly,  with 


Rosa  Mundi  19 

the  feeling  that  he  was  resisting  some  curious 
magnetism.  What  was  there  about  this  child  that 
attracted  him?  He  was  not  a  lover  of  children. 
Moreover,  she  was  verging  upon  womanhood 
approaching  what  he  grimly  termed  "the  danger 
ous  age." 

He  filled  his  pipe  deliberately  while  she  waited 
for  his  answer,  turning  his  gaze  upon  the  dazzling 
line  of  the  horizon. 

"You  can  do  as  you  like,"  he  said  at  last,  and 
added  formally,  "May  I  smoke?" 

She  nodded.  "Yes,  I  would  like  you  to.  It 
will  keep  you  from  being  bored.  I  want  to  tell 
you  about  Rosa  Mundi,  because  you  do  not  judge 
her  fairly.  You  only  know  her  by  repute,  and  I— 
I  know  her  heart  to  heart." 

Her  voice  deepened  suddenly,  and  the  man 
glanced  downwards  for  an  instant,  but  immedi 
ately  looked  away  again.  She  should  tell  him 
what  she  would,  but  by  no  faintest  sign  should  she 
imagine  that  she  had  succeeded  in  arousing  his 
interest.  The  magnetism  was  drawing  him.  He 
was  aware  of  the  attraction,  and  with  firmness  he 
resisted  it.  Let  her  strive  as  she  would,  she 
would  never  persuade  him  to  think  kindly  of  Rosa 
Mundi. 

"You  think  her — bad,"  said  Rosemary,  her 
voice  pitched  very  low.  "I  know — oh,  I  know. 
Men — some  men — are  very  hard  on  women  like 
her,  women  who  have  had  to  hew  their  own  way  in 
the  world,  and  meet  temptation  almost  before"- 


20  Rosa  Mundi 

her  voice  quivered  a  little — "they  knew  what 
temptation  meant." 

He  looked  down  at  her  again  suddenly  and 
searchingly ;  but  her  clear  eyes  never  flinched  from 
his.  They  were  pleading  and  a  little  troubled,  but 
wholly  unafraid. 

"Perhaps  you  won't  believe  me,"  she  said. 
"You'll  think  you  know  best.  But  Rosa  Mundi 
wasn't  bad  always — not  at  the  beginning.  Her 
dancing  began  when  she  was  young — oh,  younger 
than  I  am.  It  was  a  dreadful  uphill  fight.  She 
had  a  mother  then — a  mother  she  adored.  Did 
you  ever  have  a  mother  like  that,  I  wonder? 
Perhaps  it  isn't  the  same  with  men,  but  there 
are  some  women  who  would  gladly  die  for  their 
mothers.  And — and  Rosa  Mundi  felt  like  that. 
A  time  came  when  her  mother  was  dying  of  a  slow 
disease,  and  she  needed  things — many  things. 
Rosa  Mundi  wasn't  a  success  then.  She  hadn't 
had  her  chance.  But  there  was  a  man — a  man 
with  money  and  influence — who  was  willing  to 
offer  it  to  her — at — at — a  price.  She  was  dancing 
for  chance  coppers  outside  a  San  Francisco  saloon 
when  first  he  made  his  offer.  She — refused." 

Rosemary's  soft  eyes  were  suddenly  lowered. 
She  did  not  look  like  a  child  any  longer,  but  a  being 
sexless,  yet  very  pitiful — an  angel  about  to  weep. 

Courteney  watched  her,  for  he  could  not  turn 
away. 

Almost  under  her  breath,  she  went  on:  "A  few 
days  later  her  mother  began  to  suffer — oh,  terribly. 


Rosa  Mundi  21 

There  was  no  money,  no  one  to  help.  She  went 
again  and  danced  at  the  saloon  entrance.  He — 
the  man — was  there.  She  danced  till  she  was  tired 
out.  And  then — and  then — she  was  hungry,  too 
— she  fainted."  The  low  voice  sank  a  little  lower. 
"When  she  came  to  herself,  she  was  in  his  keeping. 
He  was  very  kind  to  her — too  kind.  Her  strength 
was  gone,  and — and  temptation  is  harder  to  resist 
when  one  is  physically  weak  too.  When  she  went 
back  to  her  mother  she  had  accepted — his — offer. 
From  that  night  her  fortune  was  made." 

Two  tears  gathered  on  the  dark  lashes  and  hung 
there  till  she  put  up  a  quick  hand  and  brushed 
them  away. 

The  man's  face  was  curiously  softened;  he  looked 
as  if  he  desired  to  dry  those  tears  himself. 

Without  looking  up  she  continued.  "The 
mother  died — very,  very  soon.  Life  is  like  that. 
Often  one  pays — in  vain.  There  is  no  bargaining 
with  death.  But  at  least  she  never  knew.  That 
was  Rosa  Mundi 's  only  comfort.  There  was  no 
turning  back  for  her  then.  And  she  was  so  deso 
late,  so  lonely,  nothing  seemed  to  matter. 

"She  went  from  triumph  to  triumph.  She 
carried  all  before  her.  He  took  her  to  New 
York,  and  she  conquered  there.  They  strewed 
her  path  with  roses.  They  almost  wor 
shipped  her.  She  tried  to  think  she  was  happy, 
but  she  was  not — even  then.  They  came  a- 
round  her  in  crowds.  They  made  love  to  her. 
She  was  young,  and  their  homage  was  like  a 


22  Rosa  Mundi 

coloured  ball  to  her.  She  tossed  it  to  and  fro, 
and  played  with  it.  But  she  made  game  of  it 
all.  They  were  nothing  to  her — nothing,  till  one 
day  there  came  to  her  a  boy — no,  he  was  past  his 
boyhood — a  young  man — rich,  well-born,  and 
honourable.  And  he — he  loved  her,  and  offered 
her — marriage.  No  one  had  ever  offered  her  that 
before.  Can  you  realize — but  no,  you  are  a  man ! 
—what  it  meant  to  her?  It  meant  shelter  and 
peace  and  freedom.  It  meant  honour  and  kind 
ness,  and  the  chance  to  be  good.  Perhaps  you 
think  she  would  not  care  for  that.  But  you  do  not 
know  her.  Rosa  Mundi  was  meant  to  be  good. 
She  hungered  for  goodness.  She  was  tired — so 
tired  of  the  gaudy  vanities  of  life,  so — so — what 
is  the  word — so  nauseated  with  the  cheap  and  the 
bad.  Are  you  sorry  for  her,  I  wonder?  Can  you 
picture  her,  longing — oh,  longing — for  what  she 
calls  respectability?  And  then — this  chance,  this 
offer  of  deliverance!  It  meant  giving  up  her 
career,  of  course.  It  meant  changing  her  whole 
life.  It  meant  sacrifice — the  sort  of  sacrifice  that 
you  ought  to  be  able  to  understand — for  she  loved 
her  dancing  and  her  triumphs,  just  as  you  love 
your  public — the  people  who  read  your  books  and 
love  you  for  their  sake.  That  is  different,  isn't  it, 
from  the  people  who  follow  you  about  and  want  to 
stare  at  you  just  because  you  are  prosperous  and 
popular?  The  people  who  really  appreciate  your 
art — those  are  the  people  you  would  not  disappoint 
for  all  the  world.  They  make  up  a  vast  friendship 


Rosa  Mundi  23 

that  is  very  precious,  and  it  would  be  a  sacrifice — 
a  big — sacrifice — to  give  it  up.  That  is  the  sort 
of  sacrifice  that  marriage  meant  to  Rosa  Mundi. 
And  though  she  wanted  marriage — and  she  wanted 
to  be  good — she  hesitated." 

There  was  a  little  pause.  Randal  Courteney 
was  no  longer  dissembling  his  interest.  He  had 
laid  his  pipe  aside,  and  was  watching  with  unvary 
ing  intentness  the  downcast  childish  face.  He 
asked  no  questions.  There  was  something  in  the 
low-spoken  words  that  held  him  silent.  Perhaps 
he  feared  to  probe  too  deep. 

In  a  few  moments  she  went  on,  gathering  up  a 
little  handful  of  the  shining  shingle,  and  slowly 
sifting  it  through  her  fingers  as  though  in  search 
of  something  precious. 

"I  think  if  she  had  really  loved  the  man,  it 
wouldn't  have  mattered.  Nothing  counts  like 
love,  does  it?  But — you  see — she  didn't.  She 
wanted  to.  She  knew  that  he  was  clean  and 
honourable,  worthy  of  a  good  woman.  He  loved 
her,  too,  loved  her  so  that  he  was  willing  to  put 
away  all  her  past.  For  she  did  not  deceive  him 
about  that.  He  was  willing  to  give  her  all — all  she 
wanted.  But  she  did  not  love  him.  She  honoured 
him,  and  she  felt  for  a  time  at  least  that  love  might 
come.  He  guessed  that,  and  he  did  his  best — all 
that  he  could  think  of — to  get  her  to  consent.  In 
the  end — in  the  end"-— Rosemary  paused,  a  tiny 
stone  in  her  hand  that  shone  like  polished  crystal — 
"she  was  very  near  to  the  verge  of  yielding,  the 


24  Rosa  Mundi 

young  man  had  almost  won,  when — when  some 
thing  happened  that  altered — everything.  The 
young  man  had  a  friend,  a  writer,  a  great  man 
even  then;  he  is  greater  now.  The  friend  came, 
and  he  threw  his  whole  weight  into  the  scale 
against  her.  She  felt  him — the  force  of  him — 
before  she  so  much  as  saw  him.  She  had  broken 
with  her  lover  some  time  before.  She  was  free. 
And  she  determined  to  marry  the  young  man  who 
loved  her — in  spite  of  his  friend.  That  very  day 
it  happened.  The  young  man  sent  her  a  book 
written  by  his  friend.  She  had  begun  to  hate  the 
writer,  but  out  of  curiosity  she  opened  it  and  read. 
First  a  bit  here,  then  a  bit  there,  and  at  last  she  sat 
down  and  read  it — all  through." 

The  little  shining  crystal  lay  alone  in  the  soft 
pink  palm.  Rosemary  dwelt  upon  it,  faintly 
smiling. 

"She  read  far  into  the  night,"  she  said,  speaking 
almost  dreamily,  as  if  recounting  a  vision  conjured 
up  in  the  glittering  surface  of  the  stone.  ' '  It  was 
a  free  night  for  her.  And  she  read  on  and  on  and 
on.  The  book  gripped  her;  it  fascinated  her.  It 
was — a  great  book.  It  was  called — Remem 
brance."  She  drew  a  quick  breath  and  went  on 
somewhat  hurriedly.  ' '  It  moved  her  in  a  fashion 
that  perhaps  you  would  hardly  realize.  I  have 
read  it,  and  I — understand.  The  writing  was 
wonderful.  It  brought  home  to  her — vividly,  oh, 
vividly — how  the  past  may  be  atoned  for,  but 
never,  never  effaced.  It  hurt  her — oh,  it  hurt  her. 


Rosa  Mundi  25 

But  it  did  her  good.  It  showed  her  how  she  was 
on  the  verge  of  taking  a  wrong  turning,  of  per 
haps — no,  almost  certainly — dragging  down  the 
man  who  loved  her.  She  saw  suddenly  the 
wickedness  of  marrying  him  just  to  escape  her  own 
prison.  She  understood  clearly  that  only  love 
could  have  justified  her — no  other  motive  than 
that.  She  saw  the  evil  of  fastening  her  past  to 
an  honourable  man  whose  good  name  and  family 
demanded  of  him  something  better.  She  felt  as  if 
the  writer  had  torn  aside  a  veil  and  shown  her  her 
naked  soul.  And — and — though  the  book  was  a 
good  book,  and  did  not  condemn  sinners — she  was 
shocked,  she  was  horrified,  at  what  it  made  her 
see." 

Rosemary  suddenly  closed  her  hand  upon  the 
shining  stone,  and  turned  fully  and  resolutely  to 
the  man  beside  her. 

"That  night  changed  Rosa  Mundi,"  she  said; 
"changed  her  completely.  Before  it  was  over  she 
wrote  to  the  young  man  who  loved  her  and  told 
him  that  she  could  not  marry  him.  The  letter  did 
not  go  till  the  following  evening.  She  kept  it  back 
for  a  few  hours — in  case  she  repented.  But — 
though  she  suffered — she  did  not  repent.  In  the 
evening  she  had  an  engagement  to  dance.  The 
young  man  was  there — in  the  front  row.  And  he 
brought  his  friend.  She  danced.  Her  dancing  was 
superb  that  night.  She  had  a  passionate  desire  to 
bewitch  the  man  who  had  waked  her  soul — as  she 
had  bewitched  so  many  others.  She  had  never 


26  Rosa  Mundi 

met  a  man  she  could  not  conquer.  She  was  deter 
mined  to  conquer  him.  Was  it  wrong  ?  Anyway, 
it  was  human.  She  danced  till  her  very  heart 
was  on  fire,  danced  till  she  trod  the  clouds.  Her 
audience  went  mad  with  the  delight  of  it.  They 
raved  as  if  they  were  intoxicated.  All  but  one 
man !  All  but  one  man !  And  he — at  the  end — he 
looked  her  just  once  in  the  eyes,  stonily,  piercingly, 
and  went  away."  She  uttered  a  sharp,  choking 
breath.  "I  have  nearly  done,"  she  said.  "Can 
you  guess  what  happened  then?  Perhaps  you 
know.  The  man  who  loved  her  received  her  letter 
when  he  got  back  that  night.  And — and — she  had 
bewitched  him,  remember;  he — shot  himself.  The 
friend — the  writer — she  never  saw  again.  But— 
but — Rosa  Mundi  has  never  forgotten  him.  She 
carries  him  in  her  heart — the  man  who  taught  her 
the  meaning  of  life." 

She  ceased  to  speak,  and  suddenly,  like  a  boy, 
sprang  to  her  feet,  tossing  away  the  stone  that  she 
had  treasured  in  her  hand. 

But  the  man  was  almost  as  quick  as  she.  He 
caught  her  by  the  shoulder  as  he  rose.  ' '  Wait ! "  he 
said.  ' '  Wait ! "  His  voice  rang  hard,  but  there  was 
no  hardness  in  his  eyes.  ' '  Tell  me — who  you  are ! ' ' 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  fearlessly,  without 
shame.  "What  does  it  matter  who  I  am?"  she 
said.  "What  does  it  matter?  I  have  told  you  I 
am  Rosemary.  That  is  her  name  for  me,  and  it 
was  your  book  called  Remembrance  that  made  her 
give  it  me." 


Rosa  Mundi  27 

He  held  her  still,  looking  at  her  with  a  growing 
compassion  in  his  eyes.  "You  are  her  child,"  he 
said. 

She  smiled.  "Perhaps — spiritually.  Yes,  I 
think  I  am  her  child,  such  a  child  as  she  might 
have  been  if — Fate — had  been  kind  to  her — or  if 
she  had  read  your  book  before — and  not  after." 

He  let  her  go  slowly,  almost  with  reluctance. 
"I  think  I  should  like  to  meet  your — Rosa 
Mundi,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  suddenly  shone.  "Not  really?  You 
are  in  earnest?  But — but — you  would  hurt  her. 
You  despise  her. " 

"I  am  sorry  for  her,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a 
hint  of  doggedness  in  his  voice,  as  though  he  spoke 
against  his  better  judgment. 

The  child's  face  had  an  eager  look,  but  she 
seemed  to  be  restraining  herself.  ' '  I  ought  to  tell 
you  one  thing  about  her  first,"  she  said.  "Per 
haps  you  will  disapprove.  I  don't  know.  But  it 
is  because  of  you — and  your  revelation — that  she 
is  doing  it.  Rosa  Mundi  is  going  to  be  married. 
No,  she  is  not  giving  up  her  career  or  anything— 
except  her  freedom.  Her  old  lover  has  come  back 
to  her.  She  is  going  to  marry  him  now.  He 
wants  her  for  his  wife." 

"Ah!"  It  was  the  man  who  was  eager  now. 
He  spoke  impulsively.  ' '  She  will  be  happy  then  ? 
She  loves  him  ? ' ' 

Rosemary  looked  at  him  with  her  clear,  unfalter 
ing  eyes.  "Oh,  no,"  she  said.  "He  isn't  that  sort 


28  Rosa  Mundi 

of  man  at  all.  Besides,  there  is  only  one  man  in 
the  world  that  she  could  care  for  in  that  way.  No, 
she  doesn't  love  him.  But  she  is  doing  the  right 
thing,  and  she  is  going  to  be  good.  You  will  not 
despise  her  any  more?" 

There  was  such  anxious  appeal  in  her  eyes  that 
he  could  not  meet  it.  He  turned  his  own  away. 

There  fell  a  silence  between  them,  and  through 
it  the  long,  long  roar  of  the  sea  rose  up — a  mighty 
symphony  of  broken  chords. 

The  man  moved  at  last,  looked  down  at  the 
slight  boyish  figure  beside  him,  hesitated,  finally 
spoke.  "I  still  think  that  I  should  like  to  meet 
Rosa  Mundi,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  smiled  again.  "And  you  will  not 
despise  her  now,"  she  said,  her  tone  no  longer  a 
question. 

"I  think,"  said  Randal  Courteney  slowly,  "that 
I  shall  never  despise  any  one  again." 

"Life  is  so  difficult,"  said  Rosemary,  with  the 
air  of  one  who  knew. 


They  were  strewing  the  Pier  with  roses  for  Rosa 
Mundi's  night.  There  were  garlands  of  roses,  fes 
toons  of  roses,  bouquets  of  roses;  roses  overhead, 
roses  under  foot,  everywhere  roses. 

Summer  had  returned  triumphant  to  deck  the 
favourite's  path. 

Randal  Courteney  marked  it  all  gravely,  with 
out  contempt.  It  was  her  hour. 


Rosa  Mundi  29 

No  word  from  her  had  reached  him,  but  that 
night  he  would  meet  her  face  to  face.  Through 
days  and  nights  of  troubled  thought,  the  resolve 
had  grown  within  him.  To-night  it  should  bear 
fruit.  He  would  not  rest  again  until  he  had  seen 
her.  For  his  peace  of  mind  was  gone.  She  was 
about  to  throw  herself  away  upon  a  man  she  did 
not  love,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  laid  upon  him  to 
stop  the  sacrifice.  The  burden  of  responsibility 
was  his.  He  had  striven  against  this  conviction, 
but  it  would  not  be  denied.  From  the  days  of 
young  Eric  Baron's  tragedy  onward,  this  woman 
had  made  him  as  it  were  the  star  of  her  destiny. 
To  repudiate  the  fact  was  useless.  She  had,  in  her 
ungoverned,  impulsive  fashion,  made  him  surety 
for  her  soul. 

The  thought  tormented  him,  but  it  held  a 
strange  attraction  for  him  also.  If  the  story  were 
true,  and  it  was  not  in  him  to  doubt  it,  it  touched 
him  in  a  way  that  was  wholly  unusual.  Popular 
ity,  adulation,  had  been  his  portion  for  years. 
But  this  was  different,  this  was  personal — a  matter 
in  which  reputation,  fame,  had  no  part.  In  a 
different  sphere  she  also  was  a  star,  with  a  host 
of  worshippers  even  greater  than  his  own.  The 
humility  of  her  amazed  him.  She  had,  as  it  were, 
taken  her  fate  between  her  hands  and  laid  it  as 
an  offering  at  his  feet. 

And  so,  on  Rosa  Mundi's  night,  he  went  to  the 
great  Pavilion,  mingling  with  the  crowd,  determined 
when  her  triumph  was  over,  to  seek  her  out. 


30  Rosa  Mundi 

There  would  be  a  good  many  seekers,  he  doubted 
not ;  but  he  was  convinced  that  she  would  not  deny 
him  an  interview. 

He  secured  a  seat  in  the  third  row,  avoiding 
almost  by  instinct  any  more  conspicuous  position. 
He  was  early,  and  while  he  waited,  the  thought  of 
young  Eric  Baron  came  to  him — the  boy's  eager 
face,  the  adoration  of  his  eyes.  He  remembered 
how  on  that  far-off  night  he  had  realized  the 
hopelessness  of  combating  his  love,  how  he 
had  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  relinquished 
the  struggle.  And  the  battle  had  been  his  even 
then — a  bitter  victory  more  disastrous  than 
defeat. 

He  put  the  memory  from  him  and  thought  of 
Rosemary — the  child  with  the  morning  light  in 
her  eyes,  the  innocence  of  the  morning  in  her  soul. 
How  tenderly  she  had  spoken  of  Rosa  Mundi! 
How  sweetly  she  had  pleaded  her  cause!  With 
what  amazing  intuition  had  she  understood! 
Something  that  was  greater  than  pity  welled  up 
within  him.  Rosa  Mundi's  guardian  angel  had 
somehow  reached  his  heart. 

People  were  pouring  into  the  place.  He  saw 
that  it  was  going  to  be  packed.  And  outside, 
lining  the  whole  length  of  the  Pier,  they  were 
waiting  for  her  too,  waiting  to  strew  her  path  with 
roses. 

Ah!  she  was  coming!  Above  the  wash  of  the 
sea  there  rose  a  roar  of  voices.  They  were  giving 
her  the  homage  of  a  queen.  He  listened  to  the 


Rosa  Mundi  31 

frantic  cheering,  and  again  it  was  Rosa  Mundi, 
splendid  and  brilliant,  who  filled  his  thoughts  as 
she  filled  the  thoughts  of  all  just  then. 

The  cheering  died  down,  and  there  came  a  great 
press  of  people  into  the  back  of  the  building.  The 
lights  were  lowered,  but  he  heard  the  movement, 
the  buzz  of  a  delighted  crowd. 

Suddenly  the  orchestra  burst  into  loud  music. 
They  were  playing  "Queen  of  the  Earth,"  he 
remembered  later.  The  curtain  went  up.  And  in 
a  blaze  of  light  he  saw  Rosa  Mundi. 

Something  within  him  sprang  into  quivering 
life.  Something  which  till  that  moment  he  had 
never  known  awoke  and  gripped  him  with  a  force 
gigantic.  She  was  robed  in  shimmering,  trans 
parent  gold — a  queen- woman,  slight  indeed, 
dainty,  fairy-like — yet  magnificent.  Over  her 
head,  caught  in  a  jewelled  fillet,  there  hung  a  filmy 
veil  of  gold,  half  revealing,  half  concealing,  the 
smiling  face  behind.  Trailing  wisps  of  golden 
gossamer  hung  from  her  beautiful  arms.  Her  feet 
were  bound  with  golden  sandals.  And  on  her 
breast  were  roses — golden  roses. 

She  was  exquisite  as  a  dream.  He  gazed  and 
gazed  upon  her  as  one  entranced.  The  tumult  of 
acclamation  that  greeted  her  swept  by  him  un 
heeded.  He  was  conscious  only  of  a  passionate 
desire  to  fling  back  the  golden  veil  that  covered  her 
and  see  the  laughing  face  behind.  Its  elusiveness 
mocked  him.  She  was  like  a  sunbeam  standing 
there,  a  flitting,  quivering  shaft  of  light,  too  spirit- 


32  Rosa  Mundi 

ual  to  be  grasped  fully,  almost  too  dazzling  for  the 
eye  to  follow. 

The  applause  died  down  to  a  dead  silence.  Her 
audience  watched  her  with  bated  breath.  Her 
dance  was  a  thing  indescribable.  Courteney 
could  think  of  nothing  but  the  flashing  of  morning 
sunlight  upon  running  water  to  the  silver  strains 
of  a  flute  that  was  surely  piped  by  Pan.  He  could 
not  follow  the  sparkling  wonder  of  her.  He  felt 
dazed  and  strangely  exhilarated,  almost  on  fire 
with  this  new,  fierce  attraction.  It  was  as  if  the 
very  soul  were  being  drawn  out  of  his  body.  She 
called  to  him,  she  lured  him,  she  bewitched  him. 

When  he  had  seen  her  before,  he  had  been 
utterly  out  of  sympathy.  He  had  scorned  her 
charms,  had  felt  an  almost  angry  contempt  for 
young  Baron's  raptures.  To  him  she  had  been  a 
snake-woman,  possessed  of  a  fascination  which, 
to  him,  was  monstrous  and  wholly  incomprehen 
sible.  She  had  worn  a  strange  striped  dress  of 
green — tight-fitting,  hideous  he  had  deemed  it. 
Her  face  had  been  painted.  He  had  been  too 
near  the  stage,  and  she  had  revolted  him.  Her 
dance  had  certainly  been  wonderful,  sinuous, 
gliding,  suggestive — a  perfectly  conceived  scheme 
of  evil.  And  she  had  thought  to  entrap  him  with 
it!  The  very  memory  was  repulsive  even  yet. 

But  this — ah!  this  was  different.  This  thing  of 
light  and  air,  this  dancing  sunbeam,  this  creature 
of  the  morning,  exquisite  in  every  detail,  perfectly 
poised,  swifter  than  thought,  yet  arresting  at  every 


Rosa  Mundi  33 

turn,  vivid  as  a  meteor,  yet  beyond  all  scrutiny,  all 
ocular  power  of  comprehension,  she  set  every  nerve 
in  him  a-quiver.  She  seized  upon  his  fancy  and 
flung  it  to  and  fro,  catching  a  million  colours  in  her 
radiant  flights.  She  made  the  hot  blood  throb  in 
his  temples.  She  beat  upon  the  door  of  his  heart. 
She  called  back  his  vanished  youth,  the  passion 
unassuaged  of  his  manhood.  She  appealed  to  him 
directly  and  personally.  She  made  him  realize 
that  he  was  the  one  man  who  had  taught — and 
could  teach — her  the  meaning  of  life. 

Then  it  was  over.  Like  a  glittering  crystal  shat 
tered  to  fragments,  his  dream  of  ecstasy  collapsed. 
The  noise  around  him  was  as  the  roar  of  thunder 
ing  breakers.  But  he  sat  mute  in  the  midst  of  it, 
as  one  stunned. 

Someone  leaned  over  from  behind  and  spoke  to 
him.  He  was  aware  of  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"What  do  you  think  of  her?"  said  Ellis  Grant 
in  his  ear.  ' '  Superb,  isn  't  she  ?  Come  and  see  her 
before  she  appears  again!" 

As  if  compelled  by  some  power  outside  himself, 
Courteney  rose.  He  edged  his  way  to  the  end  of 
the  row  and  joined  the  great  man  there.  The 
whole  house  was  a  seething  turmoil  of  sound. 

Grant  was  chuckling  to  himself  as  one  well 
pleased.  In  Courteney's  eyes  he  looked  stouter, 
more  prosperous,  more  keenly  business-like,  than 
when  he  had  spoken  with  him  a  few  nights  pre 
viously.  He  took  Courteney  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  through  a  door  at  the  side. 


34  Rosa  Mundi 

"Let  'em  yell  'emselves  hoarse  for  a  bit!"  he 
said.  "Do  'em  good.  Guess  my  'rose  of  the 
world'  isn't  going  to  be  too  cheap  a  commodity. 
.  .  .  Which  reminds  me,  sir.  You've  cost  me  a 
thousand  English  pounds  by  coming  here  to-night." 

"Indeed?"  Courteney  spoke  stiffly.  He  felt 
stiff,  physically  stiff,  as  one  forcibly  awakened 
from  a  deep  slumber. 

The  man  beside  him  was  still  chuckling.  "Yes. 
The  little  witch!  Said  she'd  manage  it  somehow 
when  I  told  her  you  weren't  taking  any.  We  had 
a  thousand  on  it,  and  the  little  devil  has  won,  out 
witted  us  both.  How  in  thunder  did  she  do  it? 
Laid  a  trap  for  you;  what?" 

Courteney  did  not  answer.  The  stiffness  was 
spreading.  He  felt  as  one  turned  to  stone. 
Mechanically  he  yielded  to  the  hand  upon  his  arm, 
not  speaking,  scarcely  thinking. 

And  then — almost  before  he  knew  it — he  was  in 
her  presence,  face  to  face  with  the  golden  vision 
that  had  caught  and — for  a  space  at  least — had 
held  his  heart. 

He  bowed,  still  silent,  still  strangely  bound  and 
fettered  by  the  compelling  force. 

A  hand  that  was  lithe  and  slender  and  oddly 
boyish  came  out  to  him.  A  voice  that  had  in  it 
sweet,  lilting  notes,  like  the  voice  of  a  laughing 
child,  spoke  his  name. 

"Mr.  Courteney!     How  kind!"  it  said. 

As  from  a  distance  he  heard  Grant  speak.  ' '  Mr. 
Courteney,  allow  me  to  introduce  you — my  wife!" 


Rosa  Mundi  35 

There  was  a  dainty  movement  like  the  flash  of 
shimmering  wings.  He  looked  up.  She  had 
thrown  back  her  veil. 

He  gazed  upon  her.     ' '  Rosemary ! ' ' 

She  looked  back  at  him  above  the  roses  with  eyes 
that  were  deeply  purple — as  the  depths  of  the 
sea.  "Yes,  I  am  Rosemary — to  my  friends,"  she 
said. 

Ellis  Grant  was  laughing  still,  in  his  massive, 
contented  way.  "  But  to  her  lover, ' '  he  said,  ' '  she 
is — and  always  has  been — Rosa  Mundi." 

Then  speech  came  back  to  Courteney,  and 
strength  returned.  He  held  himself  in  firm 
restraint.  He  had  been  stricken,  but  he  did  not 
flinch. 

"Your  husband?"  he  said. 

She  indicated  Grant  with  a  careless  hand. 
"Since  yesterday,"  she  said. 

He  bowed  to  her  again,  severely  formal.  "May 
I  wish  you  joy?"  he  said. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  and  in  that 
instant  something  happened.  She  had  not  moved. 
Her  eyes  still  met  his  own,  but  it  was  as  if  a  veil 
had  dropped  between  them  suddenly.  He  saw 
the  purple  depths  no  more. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Rosa  Mundi,  with  her  little 
girlish  laugh. 


As  he  strode  down  the  Pier  a  few  minutes  later, 
he  likened  the  scent  of  the  crushed  roses  that 


36  Rosa  Mundi 

strewed  the  way  to  the  fumes  of  sacrifice — sacrifice 
offered  at  the  feet  of  a  goddess  who  cared  for 
nothing  sacred.  Not  till  long  after  did  he  remem 
ber  the  tears  that  he  had  seen  her  shed. 


A   Debt   of  Honour 


HOPE  AND  THE  MAGICIAN 

THEY  lived  in  the  rotten  white  bungalow  at  the 
end  of  the  valley — Hope  and  the  Magician.  It 
stood  in  a  neglected  compound  that  had  once 
been  a  paradise,  when  a  certain  young  officer 
belonging  to  the  regiment  of  Sikhs  then  stationed 
in  Ghantala  had  taken  it  and  made  of  it  a  dainty 
home  for  his  English  bride.  Those  were  the  days 
before  the  flood,  and  no  one  had  lived  there  since. 
The  native  men  in  the  valley  still  remembered  with 
horror  that  awful  night  when  the  monsoon  had 
burst  in  floods  and  water-spouts  upon  the  mount 
ains,  and  the  bride,  too  terrified  to  remain  in  the 
bungalow,  had  set  out  in  the  worst  fury  of  the 
storm  to  find  her  husband,  who  was  on  duty  up  at 
the  cantonments.  She  had  been  drowned  close  to 
the  bungalow  in  a  ranging  brown  torrent  which 
swept  over  what  a  few  hours  earlier  had  been  a 
mere  bed  of  glittering  sand.  And  from  that  time 
the  bungalow  had  been  deserted,  avoided  of  all 
men,  a  haunted  place,  the  abode  of  evil  spirits. 

37 


38  Rosa  Mundi 

Yet  it  still  stood  in  its  desolation,  rotting  year  by 
year.  No  native  would  approach  the  place.  No 
Englishman  desired  it.  For  it  was  well  away  from 
the  cantonments,  nearer  than  any  other  European 
dwelling  to  the  native  village,  and  undeniably  in 
the  hottest  corner  of  all  the  Ghantala  Valley. 

Perhaps  its  general  air  of  desolation  had  also 
influenced  the  minds  of  possible  tenants,  for 
Ghantala  was  a  cheerful  station,  and  its  inhabit 
ants  preferred  cheerful  dwelling-places.  What 
ever  the  cause,  it  had  stood  empty  and  forsaken 
for  more  than  a  dozen  years. 

And  then  had  come  Hope  and  the  Magician. 

Hope  was  a  dark-haired,  bright-eyed  English 
girl,  who  loved  riding  as  she  loved  nothing  else  on 
earth.  Her  twin-brother,  Ronald  Carteret,  was 
the  youngest  subaltern  in  his  battalion,  and  for  his 
sake,  she  had  persuaded  the  Magician  that  the 
Ghantala  Valley  was  an  ideal  spot  to  live  in. 

The  Magician  was  their  uncle  and  sole  relative, 
an  old  man,  wizened  and  dried  up  like  a  monkey,  to 
whom  India  was  a  land  of  perpetual  delight  and 
novelty  of  which  he  could  never  tire.  He  was 
engaged  upon  a  book  of  Indian  mythology,  and  he 
was  often  away  from  home  for  the  purpose  of 
research.  But  his  absence  made  very  little  differ 
ence  to  Hope.  Her  brother  lived  in  the  bungalow 
with  her,  and  the  people  in  the  station  were  very 
kind  to  her. 

The  natives,  though  still  wary,  had  lost  their 
abhorrence  of  the  place.  They  believed  that  the 


A  Debt  of  Honour  39 

Magician,  as  they  called  him,  had  woven  a  spell  to 
keep  the  evil  spirits  at  a  distance.  It  was  known 
that  he  was  in  constant  communication  with 
native  priests.  Moreover,  the  miss-sahib  who 
dwelt  at  the  bungalow  remained  unharmed,  so  it 
seemed  there  was  nought  to  fear. 

Hope,  after  a  very  few  months,  cut  off  her  hair 
and  wore  it  short  and  curly.  This  also  seemed  to 
discourage  the  evil  ones.  So  at  length  it  appeared 
that  the  curse  had  been  removed,  or  at  least  placed 
in  abeyance. 

As  for  Hope,  she  liked  the  place.  Her  nerves 
were  generally  good,  and  the  joy  of  being  near  the 
brother  she  idolized  outweighed  every  other  con 
sideration.  The  colonel's  wife,  Mrs.  Latimer,  was 
very  kind  to  her  from  the  outset,  and  she  enjoyed 
all  the  Ghantala  gaieties  under  her  protection  and 
patronage. 

Not  till  Mrs.  Latimer  was  taken  ill  and  had  to 
leave  hurriedly  for  the  Hills  did  it  dawn  upon 
Hope,  after  nearly  eight  happy  months,  that  her 
position  was  one  of  considerable  isolation,  and  that 
this  might,  under  certain  circumstances,  become  a 
matter  for  regret. 

II 

THE  VISITOR 

IT  was  on  a  Sunday  evening  of  breathless  heat 
that  this  conviction  first  took  firm  hold  of  Hope. 


40  Rosa  Mundi 

Her  uncle  was  away  upon  one  of  his  frequent 
journeys  of  research.  Her  brother  was  up  at  the 
cantonments,  and  she  was  quite  alone  save  for  her 
ayah,  and  the  punkah-coolie  dozing  on  the  veranda. 

She  had  not  expected  any  visitors.  Visitors 
seldom  came  to  the  bungalow,  for  the  simple  rea 
son  that  she  was  seldom  at  home  to  receive  them, 
and  the  Magician  never  considered  himself  at 
liberty  for  social  obligations.  So  it  was  with  some 
surprise  that  she  heard  footsteps  that  were  not  her 
brother's  upon  the  baked  earth  of  the  compound; 
and  when  her  ayah  came  to  her  with  the  news  that 
Hyde  Sahib  was  without,  she  was  even  conscious 
of  a  sensation  of  dismay. 

For  Hyde  Sahib  was  a  man  she  detested,  without 
knowing  why.  He  was  a  civil  servant,  an  engineer, 
and  he  had  been  in  Ghantala  longer  than  any  one 
else  of  the  European  population.  Very  reluct 
antly  she  gave  the  order  to  admit  him,  hoping 
that  Ronnie  would  soon  return  and  take  him  off 
her  hands.  For  Ronnie  professed  to  like  the 
man. 

He  greeted  her  with  a  cool  self-assurance  that 
admitted  not  the  smallest  doubt  of  his  welcome. 

"I  was  passing,  and  thought  I  would  drop  in," 
he  told  her,  retaining  her  hand  till  she  abruptly 
removed  it.  "I  guessed  you  would  be  all  forlorn. 
The  Magician  is  away,  I  hear?" 

Hope  steadily  returned  the  gaze  of  his  pale  eyes, 
as  she  replied,  with  dignity : 

"Yes;  my  uncle  is  from  home.     But  I  am  not 


A  Debt  of  Honour  41 

at  all  lonely.  I  am  expecting  my  brother  every 
minute." 

He  smiled  at  her  in  a  way  that  made  her  stiffen 
instinctively.  She  had  never  been  so  completely 
alone  with  him  before. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  said,  "perhaps  you  will  allow  me 
to  amuse  you  till  he  returns.  I  rather  want  to  see 
him." 

He  took  her  permission  for  granted,  and  sat 
down  in  a  bamboo  chair  on  the  veranda,  leaning 
back,  and  staring  up  at  her  with  easy  insolence. 

' '  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  you  are  not  lonely 
here,"  he  remarked.  "A  figure  of  speech,  I  sup 
pose?" 

Hope  felt  the  colour  rising  in  her  cheeks  under 
his  direct  and  unpleasant  scrutiny. 

"I  have  never  felt  lonely  till  to-day,"  she 
returned,  with  spirit. 

He  laughed  incredulously.     "No?"  he  said. 

"No,"  said  Hope  with  emphasis.  "I  often 
think  that  there  are  worse  things  in  the  world 
than  solitude." 

Something  in  her  tone — its  instinctive  enmity, 
its  absolute  honesty — attracted  his  attention.  He 
sat  up  and  regarded  her  very  closely. 

She  was  still  on  her  feet — a  slender,  upright 
figure  in  white.  She  was  grasping  the  back  of 
a  chair  rather  tightly,  but  she  did  not  shrink 
from  his  look,  though  there  was  that  within 
her  which  revolted  fiercely  as  she  met  it.  But 
he  prolonged  the  silent  combat  with  brutal  in- 


42  Rosa  Mundi 

tention,  till  at  last,  in  spite  of  herself,  her  eyes 
sank,  and  she  made  a  slight,  unconscious  gesture 
of  protest.  Then,  deliberately  and  insultingly, 
he  laughed. 

"Come  now,  Miss  Carteret,"  he  said,  "I'm  sure 
you  can't  mean  to  be  unfriendly  with  me.  I 
believe  this  place  gets  on  your  nerves.  You're 
not  looking  well,  you  know." 

"No?"  she  responded,  with  frozen  dignity. 

"Not  so  well  as  I  should  like  to  see  you,"  said 
Hyde,  still  smiling  his  objectionable  smile.  "I 
believe  you're  moped.  Isn't  that  it?  I  know 
the  symptoms,  and  I  know  an  excellent  remedy, 
too.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  try  it?" 

Hope  looked  at  him  uncertainly.  She  was 
quivering  all  over  with  nervous  apprehension. 
His  manner  frightened  her.  She  was  not  sure 
that  the  man  was  absolutely  sober.  But  it  would 
be  absurd,  ridiculous,  she  told  her  thumping 
heart,  to  take  offence,  when  it  might  very  well 
be  that  the  insult  existed  in  her  imagination 
alone.  So,  with  a  desperate  courage,  she  stood 
her  ground. 

"I  really  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said 
coldly.  "But  it  doesn't  matter;  tell  me  about 
your  racer  instead ! ' ' 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  Hyde.  "It's  one 
thing  at  a  time  with  me  always.  Besides,  why 
should  I  bore  you  to  that  extent?  Why,  I'm 
boring  you  already.  Isn't  that  so?" 

He  set  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair  pre- 


A  Debt  of  Honour  43 

paratory  to  rising,  as  he  spoke;  and  Hope  took 
a  quick  step  away  from  him.  There  was  a  look 
in  his  eyes  that  was  horrible  to  her. 

" No, "  she  said,  rather  breathlessly.  ' ' No ;  I'm 
not  at  all  bored.  Please  don't  get  up;  I'll  go  and 
order  some  refreshment." 

"Nonsense!"  he  said  sharply.  "I  don't  want 
it.  I  won't  have  any!  I  mean" — his  manner 
softening  abruptly — "not  unless  you  will  join 
me;  which,  I  fear,  is  too  much  to  expect.  Now 
don't  go  away!  Come  and  sit  here!"  drawing 
close  to  his  own  the  chair  on  which  she  had 
been  leaning.  "I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
Don't  look  so  scared!  It's  something  you'll 
like;  it  is,  really.  And  you're  bound  to  hear  it 
sooner  or  later,  so  it  may  as  well  be  now.  Why 
not?" 

But  Hope's  nerves  were  stretched  to  snapping 
point,  and  she  shrank  visibly.  After  all,  she  was 
very  young,  and  there  was  that  about  this  man 
that  terrified  her. 

' '  No, ' '  she  said  hurriedly.  ' '  No ;  I  would  rather 
not.  There  is  nothing  you  could  tell  me  that  I 
should  like  to  hear.  I — I  am  going  to  the  gate  to 
look  for  Ronnie." 

It  was  childish,  it  was  pitiable ;  and  had  the  man 
been  other  than  a  coward  it  must  have  moved  him 
to  compassion.  As  it  was  he  sprang  up  suddenly, 
as  though  to  detain  her,  and  Hope's  last  shred  of 
self-control  deserted  her. 

She  uttered  a  smothered  cry  and  fled. 


44  Rosa  Mundi 

III 

THE  FRIEND  IN  NEED 

THE  road  that  led  to  the  cantonments  was 
ill-made  and  stony,  but  she  dashed  along  it  like  a 
mad  creature,  unconscious  of  everything  save  the 
one  absorbing  desire  to  escape.  Ronnie  was  not 
in  sight,  but  she  scarcely  thought  of  him.  The 
light  was  failing  fast,  and  she  knew  that  it  would 
soon  be  quite  dark,  save  for  a  white  streak  of  moon 
overhead.  It  was  still  frightfully  hot.  The 
atmosphere  oppressed  her  like  a  leaden  weight.  It 
seemed  to  keep  her  back,  and  she  battled  with  it 
as  with  something  tangible.  Her  feet  were  clad 
in  thin  slippers,  and  at  any  other  time  she  would 
have  known  that  the  rough  stones  cut  and  hurt 
her.  But  in  the  terror  of  the  moment  she  felt  no 
pain.  She  only  had  the  sense  to  run  straight 
on,  with  gasping  breath  and  failing  limbs,  till  at 
last,  quite  suddenly,  her  strength  gave  out  and 
she  sank,  an  exhausted,  sobbing  heap,  upon  the 
roadway. 

There  came  the  tread  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  she 
started  and  made  a  convulsive  effort  to  crawl  to 
one  side.  She  was  nearer  fainting  than  she  had 
ever  been  in  her  life. 

Then  the  hoof -beats  stopped,  and  she  uttered  a 
gasping  cry,  all  her  nameless  terror  for  the  moment 
renewed. 

A  man  jumped  to  the  ground  and,  with  a  word 


A  Debt  of  Honour  45 

to  his  animal,  stooped  over  her.  She  shrank  from 
him  in  unreasoning  panic. 

"Who  is  it?  Who  is  it?"  she  sobbed.  He 
answered  her  instantly,  rather  curtly. 

"I — Baring.  What's  the  matter?  Something 
gone  wrong?" 

She  felt  strong  hands  lifting  her,  and  she  yielded 
herself  to  them,  her  panic  quenched. 

"Oh,  Major  Baring!"  she  said  faintly.  "I 
didn't  know  you!" 

Major  Baring  made  no  response.  He  held  her 
on  her  feet  facing  him,  for  she  seemed  unable  to 
stand,  and  waited  for  her  to  recover  herself.  She 
trembled  violently  between  his  hands,  but  she 
made  a  resolute  effort  after  self-control. 

"I — I  didn't  know  you,"  she  faltered  again. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Major  Baring. 

But  she  could  not  tell  him.  Already  the  sus 
picion  that  she  had  behaved  unreasonably  was  be 
ginning  to  take  possession  of  her.  Yet — yet — Hyde 
must  have  seen  she  was  alarmed.  He  might 
have  reassured  her.  She  recalled  the  look  in  his 
eyes,  and  shuddered.  She  was  sure  he  had  been 
drinking.  She  had  heard  someone  say  that  he  did 
drink. 

"I — I  have  had  a  fright,"  she  said  at  last.  "It 
was  very  foolish  of  me,  of  course.  Very  likely  it 
was  a  false  alarm.  Anyhow,  I  am  better  now. 
Thank  you." 

He  let  her  go,  but  she  was  still  so  shaken  that 
she  tottered  and  clutched  his  arm. 


46  Rosa  Mundi 

"Really  I  am  all  right,"  she  assured  him  tremu 
lously.  "It  is  only — only- 
He  put  his  arm  around  her  without  comment; 
and  again  she  yielded  as  a  child  might  have  yielded 
to  the  comfort  of  his  support. 

After  some  seconds  he  spoke,  and  she  fancied 
his  voice  sounded  rather  grim. 

"I  am  going  your  way,"  he  said.  "I  will  walk 
back  with  you." 

Hope  was  crying  to  herself  in  the  darkness,  but 
she  hoped  he  did  not  notice. 

"I  think  I  shall  go  and  meet  Ronnie,"  she  said. 
"I  don't  want  to  go  back.  It — it's  so  lonely." 

"I  will  come  in  with  you,"  he  returned. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said  quickly.  "No!  I  mean— 
I  mean — I  don't  want  you  to  trouble  any  more 
about  me.  Indeed,  I  shall  be  all  right." 

He  received  the  assurance  in  silence;  and  she 
began  to  wonder  dolefully  if  she  had  offended  him. 
Then,  with  abrupt  kindliness,  he  set  her  mind  at 
rest. 

"Dry  your  eyes,"  he  said,  "and  leave  off  crying, 
like  a  good  child!  Ronnie's  at  the  club,  and  won't 
be  home  at  present.  I  didn't  know  you  were  all 
alone,  or  I  would  have  brought  him  along  with 
me.  That's  better.  Now,  shall  we  make  a 
move?" 

He  slung  his  horse's  bridle  on  his  arm  and,  still 
supporting  her  with  the  other,  began  to  walk  down 
the  stony  road.  Hope  made  no  further  protest. 
She  had  always  considered  Ronnie's  major  a  rather 


A  Debt  of  Honour  47 

formidable  person.  She  knew  that  Ronnie  stood 
in  awe  of  him,  though  she  had  always  found  him 
kind. 

They  had  not  gone  five  yards  when  he  stopped. 

"You  are  limping.     What  is  it?" 

She  murmured  something  about  the  stones. 

"You  had  better  ride,"  he  decided  briefly. 
"Rupert  will  carry  you  like  a  lamb.  Ready? 
How's  that?" 

He  lifted  her  up  into  the  saddle  as  if  she  had  been 
a  child,  and  stooped  to  arrange  her  foot  in  the  strap 
of  the  stirrup. 

"Good  heavens!"  she  heard  him  murmur,  as  he 
touched  her  shoe.  ' '  No  wonder  the  stones  seemed 
hard!  Quite  comfortable?"  he  asked  her,  as  he 
straightened  himself. 

"Quite,"  she  answered  meekly. 

And  he  marched  on,  leading  the  horse  with 
care. 

At  the  gate  of  the  shadowy  little  compound  that 
surrounded  the  bungalow  she  had  quitted  so  pre 
cipitately  he  paused. 

"I  will  leave  the  animal  here,"  he  said,  holding 
up  his  hands  to  her. 

She  slipped  into  them  submissively. 

The  cry  of  a  jackal  somewhere  beyond  the  native 
village  made  her  start  and  tremble.  Her  nerves 
were  still  on  edge. 

Major  Baring  slipped  the  bridle  over  the  gate 
post  and  took  her  hand  in  his.  The  grip  of  his 
fingers  was  very  strong  and  reassuring. 


48  Rosa  Mundi 

"Come,"  he  said  kindly,  "let  us  go  and  look  for 
this  bogey  of  yours!" 

But  at  this  point  Hope  realized  fully  that  she 
had  made  herself  ridiculous,  and  that  for  the  sake 
of  her  future  self-respect  she  must  by  some  means 
restrain  him  from  putting  his  purpose  into  execu 
tion.  She  stood  still  and  faced  him. 

"Major  Baring,"  she  said,  her  voice  quivering  in 
spite  of  her  utmost  effort,  ' '  I  want  you — please — 
not  to  come  any  farther.  I  know  I  have  been  very 
foolish.  I  am  sure  of  it  now.  And — please — do 
you  mind  going  away,  and  not  thinking  any  more 
about  it?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Major  Baring. 

He  spoke  with  unmistakable  decision,  and  the 
girl's  heart  sank. 

"Listen!"  he  said  quietly.  "Like  you,  I  think 
you  have  probably  been  unnecessarily  alarmed. 
But,  even  so,  I  am  coming  with  you  to  satisfy 
myself.  Or — if  you  prefer — I  will  go  alone,  and 
you  can  wait  for  me  here." 

' '  Oh,  no ! "  said  Hope  quickly.  ' '  If — if  you  must 
go,  I'll  come,  too.  But  first,  will  you  promise — 
whatever  happens — not  to — to  laugh  at  me? " 

Baring  made  an  abrupt  movement  that  she  was 
at  a  loss  to  interpret.  It  was  too  dark  for  her  to 
see  his  face  with  any  distinctness. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.     "Yes;  I  promise  that." 

Hope  was  still  almost  crying.  She  felt  horribly 
ashamed.  With  her  hand  in  his,  she  went  beside 
him  up  the  short  drive  to  the  bungalow.  And,  as 


A  Debt  of  Honour  49 

she  went,  she  vehemently  wished  that  the  earth 
would  open  and  swallow  her  up. 

IV 

HER  NATURAL  PROTECTOR 

THEY  ascended  to  the  veranda  still  hand-in- 
hand.  It  was  deserted. 

Baring  led  her  straight  along  it  till  he  came  to 
the  two  chairs  outside  the  drawing-room  window. 
They  were  empty.  A  servant  had  just  lighted  a 
lamp  in  the  room  behind  them. 

"Go  in!"  said  Baring.  "I  will  come  back  to 
you." 

She  obeyed  him.  She  felt  incapable  of  resistance 
just  then.  He  passed  on  quietly,  and  she  stood 
inside  the  room,  waiting  and  listening  with  hushed 
breath  and  hands  tightly  clenched. 

The  seconds  crawled  by,  and  again  there  came  to 
her  straining  ears  the  cry  of  a  jackal  from  far  away. 
Then  at  last  she  caught  the  sound  of  Baring's 
voice,  curt  and  peremptory,  and  her  heart  stood 
still.  But  he  was  only  speaking  to  the  punkah- 
coolie  round  the  corner,  for  almost  instantly  the 
great  fan  above  her  head  began  to  move. 

A  few  seconds  more,  and  he  reappeared  at  the 
window  alone.  Hope  drew  a  great  breath  of  relief 
and  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  was  trembling  vio 
lently. 

She  looked  at  him  as  he  came  quietly  in.     His 


50  Rosa  Mundi 

lean,  bronzed  face,  with  the  purple  scar  of  a  sword- 
cut  down  one  cheek,  told  her  nothing.  Only  she 
fancied  that  his  mouth,  under  its  narrow,  black 
line  of  moustache,  looked  stern. 

He  went  straight  up  to  her  and  laid  his  hand  on 
her  shoulder. 

"Tell  me  what  frightened  you ! "  he  said,  looking 
down  at  her  with  keen  blue  eyes  that  shone  pierc 
ingly  in  his  dark  face. 

She  shook  her  head  instantly,  unable  to  meet  his 
look. 

"Please,"  she  said  beseechingly,  "please  don't 
ask  me!  I  would  so  much  rather  not." 

"I  have  promised  not  to  laugh  at  you,"  he 
reminded  her  gravely. 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "I  know.  But  really, 
really,  I  can't.  It  was  so  silly  of  me  to  be  fright 
ened.  I  am  not  generally  silly  like  that.  But— 
somehow — to-day 

Her  voice  failed  her.  He  took  his  hand  from  her 
shoulder;  and  she  knew  suddenly  that,  had  he 
chosen,  he  could  have  compelled. 

"Don't  be  distressed!"  he  said.  "Whatever  it 
was,  it's  gone.  Sit  down,  won't  you?" 

Hope  dropped  rather  limply  into  a  chair.  The 
security  of  Baring's  protecting  presence  was  in 
finitely  comforting,  but  her  fright  and  subsequent 
exertion  had  made  her  feel  very  weak.  Baring 
went  to  the  window  and  stood  there  for  some 
seconds,  with  his  back  to  her.  She  noted  his 
height  and  breadth  of  shoulder  with  a  faint  sense 


A  Debt  of  Honour  51 

of  pleasure.  She  had  always  admired  this  man. 
Secretly — his  habitual  kindness  to  her  notwith 
standing — she  was  also  a  little  afraid  of  him,  but 
her  fear  did  not  trouble  her  just  then. 

He  turned  quietly  at  length  and  seated  himself 
near  the  window. 

"How  long  does  your  uncle  expect  to  be  away? " 
he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

' '  I  never  know ;  he  may  come  back  to-morrow, 
or  perhaps  not  for  days." 

Baring's  black  brows  drew  together. 

"Where  is  he?"  he  asked.  She  shook  her  head 
again. 

He  said  nothing;  but  his  silence  was  so  con 
demnatory  that  she  felt  herself  called  upon  to 
defend  the  absent  one. 

"You  see,  he  came  here  in  the  first  place  because 
I  begged  so  very  hard.  And  he  has  to  travel  be 
cause  of  his  book.  I  always  knew  that,  so  I  really 
can't  complain.  Besides,  I'm  not  generally  lonely, 
and  hardly  ever  nervous.  And  I  have  Ronnie." 

"Ronnie!"  said  Baring;  and  for  the  first  time 
he  looked  contemptuous. 

Hope  sighed. 

"It's  quite  my  own  fault,"  she  said  humbly. 
"If  I  hadn't " 

"Pardon  me!  It  is  not  your  fault,"  he  inter 
rupted  grimly.  "It  is  iniquitous  that  a  girl  like 
you  should  be  left  in  such  a  place  as  this  entirely 
without  protection.  Have  you  a  revolver?" 


52  Rosa  Mundi 

Hope  looked  startled. 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said.  "If  I  had,  I  should  never 
dare  to  use  it,  even  if  I  knew  how." 

Baring  looked  at  her,  still  frowning. 

"I  think  you  are  braver  than  that,"  he  said. 

Hope  flushed  vividly,  and  rose. 

"No,"  she  said,  a  note  of  defiance  in  her  voice. 
"I'm  a  miserable  coward,  Major  Baring.  But  no 
one  knows  it  but  you  and,  perhaps,  one  other.  So 
I  hope  you  won't  give  me  away." 

Baring  did  not  smile. 

"Who  else  knows  it?"  he  asked. 

Hope  met  his  eyes  steadily.  She  was  evidently 
resolved  to  be  weak  no  longer. 

"It  doesn't  matter,  does  it?"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer  her;  and  again  she  had  a 
feeling  that  he  was  offended. 

There  was  a  considerable  pause  before  he  spoke 
again.  He  seemed  to  be  revolving  something  in 
his  mind.  Then  at  last,  abruptly,  he  began  to 
talk  upon  ordinary  topics,  and  at  once  she  felt 
more  at  her  ease  with  him.  They  sat  by  the 
window  after  that  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour;  till, 
in  fact,  the  return  of  her  brother  put  an  end  to  their 
tete-ti-tete. 

By  those  who  were  least  intimate  with  the  Car- 
teret  twins  it  was  often  said  that  in  feature  they 
were  exactly  alike.  Those  who  knew  them  better 
saw  no  more  than  a  very  strong  resemblance  in 
form  and  colouring,  but  it  went  no  farther.  In 
expression  they  differed  utterly.  The  boy's  face 


A  Debt  of  Honour  53 

lacked  the  level-browed  honesty  that  was  so 
conspicuous  in  the  girl's.  His  mouth  was  irreso 
lute.  His  eyes  were  uncertain.  Yet  he  was  a 
good-looking  boy,  notwithstanding  these  defects. 
He  had  a  pleasant  laugh  and  winning  manner,  and 
was  essentially  kind-hearted,  if  swift  to  take 
offence. 

He  came  in  through  the  window,  walking  rather 
heavily,  and  halted  just  inside  the  room,  blinking, 
as  if  the  light  dazzled  him.  Baring  gave  him  a 
single  glance  that  comprehended  him  from  head  to 
foot,  and  rose  from  his  chair. 

Again  it  seemed  to  Hope  that  she  saw  contempt 
upon  his  face;  and  a  rush  of  indignation  checked 
the  quick  words  of  welcome  upon  her  lips. 

Her  brother  spoke  first,  and  his  words  sounded 
rather  slurred,  as  if  he  had  been  running. 

' ' Hullo ! "  he  said.  ' ' Here  you  are !  Don't  get 
up!  I  expected  to  find  you !" 

He  addressed  Baring,  who  replied  instantly,  and 
with  extreme  emphasis : 

"That  I  am  sure  you  did  not." 

Ronnie  started,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  eyes  as 
if  confused. 

"Beg  pardon,"  he  said,  a  moment  later,  in  an 
odd  tone  of  shame.  ' '  I  thought  it  was  Hyde.  The 
light  put  me  off.  It — it's  Major  Baring,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes;  Baring."  Baring  repeated  his  own  name 
deliberately;  and,  as  by  a  single  flash  of  revelation 
Hope  understood  the  meaning  of  his  contempt. 

She  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.     She  had  often 


54  Rosa  Mundi 

seen  Ronnie  curiously  excited,  even  incoherently 
so,  before  that  night,  but  she  had  never  seen  him 
like  this.  She  had  never  imagined  before  for  a 
single  instant  what  now  she  abruptly  knew  with 
out  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

A  feeling  that  was  like  physical  sickness  came 
over  her.  She  looked  from  Ronnie  to  Ronnie's 
major  with  a  sort  of  piteous  appeal.  Baring 
turned  gravely  towards  her. 

"You  will  let  me  have  a  word  alone  with  your 
brother?"  he  said  quietly.  "I  was  waiting  to  see 
him,  as  you  know." 

She  felt  that  he  had  given  her  a  definite  com 
mand,  and  she  obeyed  it  mutely,  almost  mechani 
cally.  He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  she  went 
out  in  utter  silence,  sick  at  heart. 


MORE  THAN  A  FRIEND 

Two  days  later  Hope  received  an  invitation 
from  Mrs.  Latimer  to  join  her  at  the  Hill  Station 
for  a  few  weeks. 

She  hesitated,  for  her  brother's  sake,  to  accept 
it,  but  he,  urged  thereto  by  some  very  plain  speak 
ing  from  his  major,  persuaded  her  so  strongly  that 
she  finally  yielded. 

Though  she  would  not  have  owned  it,  Hope  was, 
in  fact,  in  sore  need  of  this  change.  The  heat  had 
told  upon  her  nerves  and  spirits.  She  had  had  no 


A  Debt  of  Honour  55 

fever,  but  she  was  far  from  well,  as  her  friend,  Mrs. 
Latimer,  realized  as  soon  as  she  saw  her. 

She  at  once  prescribed  complete  rest,  and  the 
week  that  followed  was  to  Hope  the  laziest  and 
the  most  peaceful  that  she  had  ever  known.  She 
was  always  happy  in  Mrs.  Latimer's  society,  and 
she  had  no  desire  just  then  for  gaiety.  The 
absolute  freedom  from  care  acted  upon  her  like  a 
tonic,  and  she  very  quickly  began  to  recover  her 
usual  buoyant  health. 

The  colonel's  wife  watched  her  unobserved. 
She  had  by  her  a  letter,  written  in  the  plain 
language  of  a  man  who  knew  no  other,  and  she 
often  referred  to  this  letter  when  she  was  alone; 
for  there  seemed  to  be  something  between  the 
lines,  notwithstanding  its  plainness. 

As  a  result  of  this  suspicion,  when  Hope  rode 
back  in  Mrs.  Latimer's  rickshaw  from  an  early 
morning  service  at  the  little  English  church  on  the 
hill,  on  the  second  Sunday  after  her  arrival,  a  big 
figure,  clad  in  white  linen,  rose  from  a  charpoy  in 
Mrs.  Latimer's  veranda,  and  stepped  down  bare 
headed  to  receive  her. 

Hope's  face,  as  she  recognized  the  visitor,  flushed 
so  vividly  that  she  was  aware  of  it,  and  almost 
feared  to  meet  his  eyes.  But  he  spoke  at  once, 
and  thereby  set  her  at  her  ease. 

"That's  much  better,"  he  said  approvingly,  as  if 
he  had  only  parted  from  her  the  day  before.  "I 
was  afraid  you  were  going  on  the  sick-list,  but  I  see 
you  have  thought  better  of  it.  Very  wise  of  you." 


56  Rosa  Mundi 

She  met  his  smile  with  a  feeling  of  glad  relief. 
"How  is  Ronnie?"  she  said. 

x- 

He  laughed  a  little  at  the  hasty  question. 

' '  Ronnie  is  quite  well,  and  sends  his  love.  He  is 
going  to  have  a  five  days'  leave  next  week  to  come 
and  see  you.  It  would  have  been  this  week,  but 
for  me." 

Hope  looked  up  at  him  enquiringly. 

"You  see,"  he  quietly  explained,  "I  was  coming 
myself,  and — it  will  seem  odd  to  you,  of  course — I 
didn't  want  Ronnie." 

Hope  was  silent.  There  was  something  in  his 
manner  that  baffled  her. 

"Selfish  of  me,  wasn't  it?"  he  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hope. 

"It  was,  I  assure  you,"  he  returned;  "sheer 
selfishness  on  my  part.  Are  we  going  to  breakfast 
on  the  veranda  ?  You  will  have  to  do  the  honours, 
I  know.  Mrs.  Latimer  is  still  in  bed." 

Hope  sat  down  thoughtfully.  She  had  never 
seen  Major  Baring  in  this  light-hearted  mood.  She 
would  have  enjoyed  it,  but  for  the  thought  of 
Ronnie. 

"Wasn't  he  disappointed?"  she  asked  presently. 

"Horribly,"  said  Baring.  "He  turned  quite 
green  when  he  heard.  I  don't  think  I  had  better 
tell  you  what  he  said." 

He  was  watching  her  quietly  across  the  table,  and 
she  knew  it.  After  a  moment  she  raised  her  eyes. 

"Yes;  tell  me  what  he  said,  Major  Baring!"  she 
said. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  57 

' '  Not  yet, ' '  said  Baring.  ' '  I  am  waiting  to  hear 
you  tell  me  that  you  are  even  more  bitterly  disap 
pointed  than  he  was." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said 
Hope,  turning  her  attention  to  the  coffee-urn. 

"No?     Whynot?" 

"Because  it  wouldn't  be  very  friendly,"  she 
answered  gravely. 

"Do  you  know,  I  almost  dared  to  fancy  it  was 
because  it  wouldn't  be  true?"  said  Baring. 

She  glanced  up  at  that,  and  their  eyes  met. 
Though  he  was  smiling  a  little,  there  was  no  mis 
taking  the  message  his  held  for  her.  She  coloured 
again  very  deeply,  and  bent  her  head  to  hide  it. 

He  did  not  keep  her  waiting.  Very  quietly, 
very  resolutely,  he  leaned  towards  her  across  the 
table,  and  spoke. 

"I  will  tell  you  now  what  your  brother  said  to 
me,  Hope,"  he  said,  his  voice  half-quizzical,  half- 
tender.  "He's  an  impertinent  young  rascal,  but 
I  bore  with  him  for  your  sake,  dear.  He  said:  'Go 
in  and  win,  old  fellow,  and  I'll  give  you  my  bless 
ing!'  Generous  of  him,  wasn't  it?  But  the 
question  is,  have  I  won?" 

Yet  she  could  not  speak.  Only  as  he  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  her,  she  laid  her  own  within  them 
without  an  instant's  hesitation,  and  suffered  them 
to  remain  in  his  close  grasp.  When  he  spoke  to 
her  again,  his  voice  was  sunk  very  low. 

"How  did  I  come  to  propose  in  this  idiotic 
fashion  across  the  breakfast-table?"  he  said. 


58  Rosa  Mundi 

4 4  Never  mind,  it's  done  now — or  nearly  done.  You 
mustn't  tremble,  dear.  I  have  been  rather  sudden, 
I  know.  I  should  have  waited  longer;  but,  under 
the  circumstances,  it  seemed  better  to  speak  at  once. 
But  there  is  nothing  to  frighten  you.  Just  look 
me  in  the  face  and  tell  me,  may  I  be  more  than  a 
friend  to  you  ?  Will  you  have  me  for  a  husband  ? " 
Hope  raised  her  eyes  obediently,  with  a  sudden 
sense  of  confidence  unutterable.  They  were  full 
of  the  quick  tears  of  joy. 

4 '  Of  course ! ' '  she  said  instantly.  ' '  Of  course ! ' ' 
She  blushed  again  afterwards,  when  she  recalled 
her  prompt,  and  even  rapturous,  answer  to  his 
question.  But,  at  the  time,  it  was  the  most 
natural  and  spontaneous  thing  in  the  world.  It 
was  not  in  her  at  that  moment  to  have  answered 
him  otherwise.  And  Baring  knew  it,  understand 
ing  so  perfectly  that  no  other  word  was  necessary 
on  either  side.  He  only  bent  his  head,  and  held 
her  two  hands  very  closely  to  his  lips  before  he 
gently  let  them  go.  It  was  his  sole  reply  to  her 
glad  response.  Yet  she  felt  as  if  there  was  some 
thing  solemn  in  his  action ;  almost  as  if  thereby  he 
registered  a  vow. 

VI 

HER   ENEMY 

NOTWITHSTANDING  her  determination  to  return 
to  Ghantala  after  the  breaking  of  the  monsoon, 


A  Debt  of  Honour  59 

Hope  stayed  on  at  the  Hill  Station  with  Mrs. 
Latimer  till  the  rains  were  nearly  over.  She  had 
wished  to  return,  but  her  hostess,  her  fiance,  and 
her  brother  were  all  united  in  the  resolve  to  keep 
her  where  she  was.  So  insistent  were  they  that 
they  prevailed  at  length.  It  had  been  a  parti 
cularly  bad  season  at  Ghantala,  and  sickness  was 
rife  there. 

Baring  even  went  so  far  as  positively  to  forbid 
her  to  return  till  this  should  have  abated. 

"You  will  have  to  obey  me  when  we  are  married, 
you  know,"  he  grimly  told  her.  "So  you  may  as 
well  begin  at  once." 

And  Hope  obeyed  him.  There  was  something 
about  this  man  that  compelled  her  obedience. 
Her  secret  fear  of  him  had  not  wholly  disappeared. 
There  were  times  when  the  thought  that  she  might 
one  day  incur  his  displeasure  made  her  uneasy. 
His  strength  awed  even  while  it  thrilled  her. 
Behind  his  utmost  tenderness  she  felt  his  mastery. 

And  so  she  yielded,  and  remained  at  the  Hill 
Station  till  Mrs.  Latimer  herself  returned  to  Ghan 
tala  in  October.  She  and  Ronnie  had  not  been 
together  for  nearly  six  weeks,  and  the  separation 
seemed  to  her  like  as  many  months.  He  was  at 
the  station  to  meet  them,  and  the  moment  she  saw 
him  she  was  conscious  of  a  shock.  She  had  never 
before  seen  him  look  so  hollow-eyed  and  thin. 

He  greeted  her,  however,  with  a  gaiety  that,  in 
some  degree,  reassured  her.  He  seemed  delighted 
to  have  her  with  him  again,  was  full  of  the  news 


60  Rosa  Mundi 

and  gossip  of  the  station,  and  chattered  like  a 
schoolboy  throughout  the  drive  to  their  bungalow. 

Her  uncle  came  out  of  his  room  to  welcome  her, 
and  then  burrowed  back  again,  and  remained 
invisible  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  But  Hope  did 
not  want  him.  She  wanted  no  one  but  Ronnie  just 
then. 

The  night  was  chilly,  and  they  had  a  fire.  Hope 
lay  on  a  sofa  before  it,  and  Ronnie  sat  and  smoked. 
Both  were  luxuriously  comfortable  till  a  hand  rapped 
smartly  upon  the  window  and  made  them  jump. 

Ronnie  exclaimed  with  a  violence  that  aston 
ished  Hope,  and  started  to  his  feet.  She  also 
sprang  up  eagerly,  almost  expecting  to  see  her 
fiance.  But  her  expectations  were  quickly  dashed. 

"It's  that  fellow  Hyde!"  Ronnie  said,  looking 
at  her  rather  doubtfully.  "You  don't  mind?" 

Her  face  fell,  but  he  did  not  wait  for  her  reply. 
He  stepped  across  to  the  window,  and  admitted 
the  visitor. 

Hyde  sauntered  in  with  a  casual  air. 

He  came  across  to  her,  smiling  in  the  way  she 
loathed,  and  almost  before  she  realized  it  he  had 
her  hand  in  a  tight,  impressive  grip,  and  his  pale 
eyes  were  gazing  full  into  hers. 

"You  look  as  fresh  as  an  English  rose,"  was  his 
deliberate  greeting. 

Hope  freed  her  hand  with  a  slight,  involuntary 
gesture  of  disgust.  Till  the  moment  of  seeing 
him  again  she  had  almost  forgotten  how  utterly 
objectionable  he  was. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  61 

"I  am  quite  well,"  she  said  coldly.  "I  think 
I  shall  go  to  bed,  Ronnie.  I'm  tired." 

Ronnie  was  pouring  some  whisky  into  a  glass. 
She  noticed  that  his  hand  was  very  shaky. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  not  looking  at  her. 

"You're  not  going  to  desert  us  already?"  said 
Hyde;  still,  as  she  felt,  mocking  her  with  his  smile. 
"It  will  be  dark,  indeed,  when  Hope  is  with 
drawn." 

He  went  to  the  door,  but  paused  with  his  hand 
upon  it.  She  looked  at  him  with  the  wild  shrink 
ing  of  a  trapped  creature  in  her  eyes. 

"Never  mind,"  he  laughed  softly;  "I  am  very 
tenacious.  Even  now — you  will  scarcely  believe 
it — I  still  have — Hope!" 

He  opened  the  door  with  the  words,  and,  as  she 
passed  through  in  unbroken  silence,  her  face  as 
white  as  marble,  there  was  something  in  his  words, 
something  of  self-assured  power,  almost  of  menace, 
that  struck  upon  her  like  a  breath  of  evil.  She 
would  have  stayed  and  defied  him  had  she  dared. 
But  somehow,  inexplicably,  she  was  afraid. 

VII 

THE  SCRAPE 

VERY  late  that  night  there  came  a  low  knock  at 
Hope's  door.  She  was  lying  awake,  and  she 
instantly  started  up  on  her  elbow. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  called. 


62  Rosa  Mundi 

The  door  opened  softly,  and  Ronnie  answered 
her. 

"I  thought  you  would  like  to  say  good -night, 
Hope,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  come  in,  dear!"  Hope  sat  up  eager 
ly.  She  had  not  expected  this  attention  from 
Ronnie.  "I'm  wide  awake.  I'm  so  glad  you 
came!" 

He  slipped  into  the  room,  and,  reaching  her, 
bent  to  kiss  her;  then,  as  she  clung  closely  to  him, 
he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed. 

"I'm  sorry  Hyde  annoyed  you,"  he  said. 

She  leaned  her  head  against  him,  and  was 
silent. 

"It'll  be  a  good  thing  for  you  when  you're 
married,"  Ronnie  went  on  presently.  "Baring 
will  take  better  care  of  you  than  I  do." 

Something  in  his  tone  went  straight  to  her 
heart.  Her  clinging  arms  tightened,  but  still  she 
was  silent.  For  what  he  said  was  unanswerable. 

When  he  spoke  again,  she  felt  it  was  with  an 
effort. 

"Baring  came  round  to-night  to  see  you.  I 
went  out  and  spoke  to  him.  I  told  him  you  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  so  he  didn't  come  in.  I  was  glad 
he  didn't.  Hyde  was  there,  and  they  don't  hit 
it  particularly  well.  In  fact—  "  he  hesitated.  "I 
would  rather  he  didn't  know  Hyde  was  here. 
Baring's  a  good  chap — the  best  in  the  world. 
He's  done  no  end  for  me;  more  than  I  can  ever  tell 
you.  But  he's  awfully  hard  in  some  ways.  I 


A  Debt  of  Honour  63 

I  can't  tell  him  everything.  He  doesn't  always 
understand." 

Again  there  sounded  in  his  voice  that  faint,  wist 
ful  note  that  so  smote  upon  Hope's  heart.  She 
drew  nearer  to  him,  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Ronnie,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  quivered 
passionately,  "never  think  that  of  me,  dear! 
Never  think  that  I  can't  understand!" 

He  kissed  her  forehead. 

"Bless  you,  old  girl!"  he  whispered  huskily. 

"My  marriage  will  make  no  difference — no  dif 
ference,"  she  insisted.  "You  and  I  will  still  be  to 
each  other  what  we  have  always  been.  There 
will  be  the  same  trust  between  us,  the  same  con 
fidence.  Rather  than  lose  that,  I  will  never  marry 
at  all!" 

She  spoke  with  vehemence,  but  Ronnie  was  not 
carried  away  by  it. 

"Baring  will  have  the  right  to  know  all  your 
secrets,"  he  said  gloomily. 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  exclaimed  Hope  impulsively. 
"He  would  never  expect  that.  He  knows  that  we 
are  twins,  and  there  is  no  tie  in  the  world  that  is 
quite  like  that." 

Ronnie  was  silent,  but  she  felt  that  it  was  not 
the  silence  of  acquiescence.  She  took  him  by  the 
shoulders  and  made  him  face  her. 

"Ronnie,"  she  said  very  earnestly,  "if  you  will 
only  tell  me  things,  and  let  me  help  you  where  I 
can,  I  swear  to  you — I  swear  to  you  most  solemnly 
—that  I  will  never  betray  your  confidence  to 


64  Rosa  Mundi 

Monty,  or  to  any  one  else :  I  know  that  he  would 
never  ask  it  of  me ;  but  even  if  he  did — even  if  he 
did — I  would  not  do  it. ' '  She  spoke  so  steadfastly, 
so  loyally,  that  he  was  strongly  moved.  He 
thrust  his  arm  boyishly  round  her. 

"All  right,  dear  old  girl,  I  trust  you,"  he  said. 
"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  As  I  see  you  have 
guessed,  there  is  a  bit  of  a  scrape ;  but  it  will  be  all 
right  in  two  or  three  weeks.  I've  been  a  fool,  and 
got  into  debt  again.  Baring  helped  me  out  once. 
That's  partly  why  I'm  so  particularly  anxious 
that  he  shouldn't  get  wind  of  it  this  time.  Fact  is, 
I'm  very  much  in  Hyde's  power  for  the  time  being. 
But,  as  I  say,  it  will  be  all  right  before  long.  I've 
promised  to  ride  his  Waler  for  the  Ghantala 
Valley  Cup  next  month.  It's  a  pretty  safe  thing, 
and  if  I  pull  it  off,  as  I  intend  to  do,  everything  will 
be  cleared,  and  I  shall  be  out  of  his  hands.  It's  a 
sort  of  debt  of  honour,  you  see.  I  can't  get  out  of 
it,  but  I  shall  be  jolly  glad  when  it's  over.  We'll 
chuck  him  then,  if  he  isn't  civil.  But  till  then 
I'm  more  or  less  helpless.  So  you'll  do  your  best 
to  tolerate  him  for  my  sake,  won't  you? " 

A  great  sigh  rose  from  Hope's  heart,  but  she 
stifled  it.  Hyde's  attitude  of  insolent  power  was 
explained  to  her,  and  she  would  have  given  all  she 
had  at  that  moment  to  have  been  free  to  seek 
Baring's  advice. 

"I'll  try,  dear,"  she  said.  "But  I  think  the  less 
I  see  of  him  the  better  it  will  be.  Are  you  quite 
sure  of  winning  the  Cup?" 


A  Debt  of  Honour  65 

"Oh,  quite,"  said  Ronnie,  with  confidence. 
"Quite.  Do  you  remember  the  races  we  used  to 
have  when  we  were  kids?  We  rode  barebacked 
in  those  days.  You  could  stick  on  anything. 
Remember?" 

Yes,  Hope  remembered;  and  a  sudden,  almost 
fierce  regret  surged  up  within  her. 

"Oh,  Ronnie,"  she  said,  "I  wish  we  were  kids 
still!" 

He  laughed  at  her  softly,  and  rose. 

"I  know  better,"  he  said;  "and  so  does  Baring. 
Good-night,  old  girl!  Sleep  well!" 

And  with  that  he  left  her.  But  Hope  scarcely 
slept  till  break  of  day. 

VIII 

BEFORE  THE  RACE 

HOPE  had  arranged  to  go  to  the  races  with  Mrs. 
Latimer  after  previously  lunching  with  her. 

When  the  day  arrived  she  spent  the  morning 
working  on  the  veranda  in  the  sunshine.  It  was 
a  perfect  day  of  Indian  winter,  and  under  its 
influence  she  gradually  forgot  her  anxieties,  and  fell 
to  dreaming  while  she  worked. 

Down  below  the  compound  she  heard  the  stream 
running  swiftly  between  its  banks,  with  a  bubbling 
murmur  like  half-suppressed  laughter.  It  was 
fuller  than  she  had  ever  known  it.  The  rains  had 
swelled  the  river  higher  up  the  valley,  and  they 


66  Rosa  Mundi 

had  opened  the  sluice-gates  to  relieve  the  pressure 
upon  the  dam  that  had  been  built  there  after  the 
disastrous  flood  that  had  drowned  the  English  girl 
years  before. 

Hope  loved  to  hear  that  soft  chuckling  between 
the  reeds.  It  made  her  think  of  an  English 
springtime.  The  joy  of  spring  was  in  her  veins. 
She  turned  her  face  to  the  sunshine  with  a  smile 
of  purest  happiness.  Only  two  months  more  to 
the  zenith  of  her  happiness ! 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  step  on  the  ver 
anda — a  stumbling,  uncertain  step.  She  turned 
swiftly  in  her  chair,  and  sprang  up.  Ronnie  had 
returned  to  prepare  for  the  race,  and  she  had  not 
heard  him.  She  had  not  seen  him  before  that 
day,  and  she  felt  a  momentary  compunction  as 
she  moved  to  greet  him.  And  then — her  heart 
stood  still. 

He  was  standing  a  few  paces  away,  supporting 
himself  against  a  pillar  of  the  veranda.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  and  heavy,  like  the  eyes  of  a  man  walk 
ing  in  his  sleep.  He  stared  at  her  dully,  as  if  he 
were  looking  at  a  complete  stranger. 

Hope  stopped  short,  gazing  at  him  in  speechless 
consternation. 

After  several  moments  he  spoke  thickly,  scarcely 
intelligibly. 

"I  can't  race  to-day,"  he  said.  "Not  well 
enough.  Hyde  must  find  a  substitute." 

He  could  hardly  articulate  the  last  word,  but 
Hope  caught  his  meaning.  The  whole  miserable 


A  Debt  of  Honour  67 

tragedy  was  written  up  before  her  in  plain, 
unmistakable  characters. 

But  almost  as  quickly  as  she  perceived  it  came 
the  thought  that  no  one  else  must  know.  Some 
thing  must  be  done,  even  though  it  was  at  the 
eleventh  hour. 

Her  first  instinct  was  to  send  for  Baring,  but 
she  thrust  it  from  her.  No!  She  must  find 
another  way.  There  must  be  a  way  out  if  she 
were  only  quick  enough  to  see  it — some  way  by 
which  she  could  cover  up  his  disgrace  so  that 
none  should  know  of  it.  There  was  a  way — 
surely  there  was  a  way!  Ronnie's  dull  stare 
became  intolerable.  She  went  to  him,  bravely, 
steadfastly. 

' '  Go  and  lie  down ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  I  will  see  about 
it  for  you." 

Something  in  her  own  words  sent  a  sudden  flash 
through  her  brain.  She  caught  her  breath,  and  her 
face  turned  very  white.  But  her  steadfastness  did 
not  forsake  her.  She  took  Ronnie  by  the  arm  and 
guided  him  to  his  room. 

IX 

THE  RACE 

' '  SUCH  a  pity.     Hope  can ' t  come ! ' ' 
Mrs.  Latimer  addressed  Baring,  who  had  just 
approached  her  across  the  racecourse.     The  sun 
was  shining  brilliantly,  and  the  scene  was  very  gay. 


68  Rosa  Mundi 

Baring,  who  had  drawn  near  with  a  certain 
eagerness,  seemed  to  stiffen  at  her  words. 

"Can't  come!"  he  echoed.     "Why  not?" 

Mrs.  Latimer  handed  him  a  note. 

"She  sent  this  round  half  an  hour  ago." 

Baring  read  the  note  with  bent  brows.  It 
merely  stated  that  the  writer  had  been  working  all 
the  morning  and  was  a  little  tired.  Would  Mrs. 
Latimer  kindly  understand  and  excuse  her? 

He  handed  it  back  without  comment. 

"Where  is  young  Carteret?"  he  asked.  "Have 
you  seen  him  yet?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "Somebody  was  saying 
he  was  late.  Ah!  There  he  is,  surely — just 
going  into  the  weighing-tent.  What  a  superb 
horse  that  is  of  Mr.  Hyde's !  Do  you  think  he  will 
win  the  Cup?" 

Baring  thought  it  likely,  but  he  said  it  with  so 
preoccupied  an  air  that  Mrs.  Latimer  smiled,  and 
considerately  refrained  from  detaining  him. 

She  watched  him  walk  down  towards  the  weigh 
ing-tent;  but  before  he  reached  it,  she  saw  the 
figure  of  young  Carteret  issue  forth  at  the  farther 
end,  and  start  off  at  a  run  with  his  saddle  on  his 
shoulder  towards  the  enclosure  where  the  racers 
were  waiting.  He  was  late,  and  she  thought  he 
looked  flurried. 

A  few  minutes  later  Baring  returned  to  her. 

"The  boy  is  behindhand,  as  usual,"  he  remarked. 
"I  didn't  get  near  him.  Time  is  just  up.  I  hear 
the  Rajah  thinks  very  highly  of  Hyde's  Waler." 


A  Debt  of  Honour  69 

Mrs.  Latimer  looked  across  at  the  Indian  Prince 
who  was  presenting  the  Cup.  He  was  seated  in 
the  midst  of  a  glittering  crowd  of  natives  and 
British  officers.  She  saw  that  he  was  closely  scan 
ning  the  restless  line  of  horses  at  the  starting- 
point. 

Through  her  glasses  she  sought  the  big  black 
Waler.  He  was  foaming  and  stamping  uneasily, 
and  she  saw  that  his  rider's  face  was  deadly  pale. 

"I  don't  believe  Ronnie  can  be  well,"  she  said. 
"He  looks  so  nervous." 

Baring  grunted  in  a  dissatisfied  note,  but  said 
nothing. 

Another  two  minutes,  and  the  signal  was  given. 
There  were  ten  horses  in  the  race.  It  was  a  fair 
start,  and  the  excitement  in  the  watching  crowd 
became  at  once  intense. 

Baring  remained  at  Mrs.  Latimer's  side.  She 
was  on  her  feet,  and  scarcely  breathing.  The 
black  horse  stretched  himself  out  like  a  greyhound, 
galloping  splendidly  over  the  shining  green  of  the 
course.  His  rider,  crouched  low  in  the  saddle, 
looked  as  if  at  any  instant  he  might  be  hurled  to 
the  earth. 

Baring  watched  him  critically,  his  jaw  set  and 
grim.  Obviously,  the  boy  was  not  himself,  and  he 
fancied  he  knew  the  reason. 

"If  he  pulls  it  off,  it'll  be  the  biggest  fluke  of  his 
life,"  he  muttered. 

"Isn't  it  queer?"  whispered  Mrs.  Latimer.  "I 
never  saw  young  Carteret  ride  like  that  before." 


?o  Rosa  Mundi 

Baring  was  silent.  He  began  to  think  he  under 
stood  Hope's  failure  to  put  in  an  appearance. 

Gradually  the  black  Waler  drew  away  from  all 
but  two  others,  who  hotly  contested  the  leader 
ship.  He  was  running  superbly,  though  he  ap 
parently  received  but  small  encouragement  from 
his  rider. 

As  they  drew  round  the  curve  at  the  further  end 
of  the  course,  he  was  galloping  next  to  the  rails. 
As  they  finally  turned  into  the  straight  run  home, 
he  was  leading. 

But  the  horse  next  to  him,  urged  by  his  rider, 
who  was  also  his  owner,  made  so  strenuous  an 
effort  that  it  became  obvious  to  all  that  he  was 
gaining  upon  the  Waler. 

A  great  yell  went  up  of  "  Carteret !  Carteret ! 
Wake  up,  Carteret!  Don't  give  it  away!"  And 
the  Waler's  rider,  as  if  startled  by  the  cry,  suddenly 
and  convulsively  slashed  the  animal's  withers. 

Through  a  great  tumult  of  shouting  the  two 
horses  dashed  past  the  winning-post.  It  seemed  a 
dead  heat;  but,  immediately  after,  the  news  spread 
that  Hyde's  horse  was  the  winner.  The  Waler  had 
gained  his  victory  by  a  neck. 

Hyde  was  leading  his  horse  round  to  the  Ra 
jah's  stand.  His  jockey,  looking  white  and  ex 
hausted,  sat  so  loosely  in  the  saddle  that  he 
seemed  to  sway  with  the  animal's  movements.  He 
did  not  appear  to  hear  the  cheering  around  him. 

Baring  took  up  his  stand  near  the  weighing- tent, 
and,  a  few  minutes  later,  Hyde  and  his  jockey  came 


A  Debt  of  Honour  71 

up  together.  The  boy's  cap  was  dragged  down  over 
his  eyes,  and  he  looked  neither  to  right  nor  left. 

Hyde,  perceiving  Baring,  pushed  forward 
abruptly. 

' '  I  want  a  word  with  you, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  've  been 
trying  to  catch  you  for  some  days  past.  But  first, 
what  did  you  think  of  the  race?"  He  coolly 
fastened  on  to  Baring's  elbow,  and  the  latter  had  to 
pause.  Hyde's  companion  passed  swiftly  on;  and 
Hyde,  seeing  the  look  on  Baring's  face,  began  to 
laugh. 

"It's  all  right;  you  needn't  look  so  starched. 
The  little  beggar's  been  starving  himself  for  the 
occasion,  and  overdone  it.  He'll  pull  round  with  a 
little  feeding  up.  Tell  me  what  you  thought  of  the 
race!  Splendid  chap,  that  animal  of  mine,  eh?" 

He  kept  Baring  talking  for  several  minutes ;  and, 
when  they  finally  parted,  his  opportunity  had 
gone. 

Baring  went  into  the  weighing-tent,  but  Ron 
nie  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  And  he  wondered 
rather  grimly  as  he  walked  away  if  Hyde  had 
detained  him  purposely  to  give  the  boy  a  chance 
to  escape. 

X 

THE  ENEMY'S  TERMS 

IT  was  nearly  dark  that  evening  when  Hope 
stood  again  on  the  veranda  of  the  Magician's 


72  Rosa  Mundi 

bungalow,  and  listened  to  the  water  running 
through  the  reeds.  She  thought  it  sounded  louder 
than  in  the  morning — more  insistent,  less  mirthful. 
She  shivered  a  little  as  she  stood  there.  She  felt 
lonely;  her  uncle  was  away  for  a  couple  of  days, 
and  Ronnie  was  in  his  room.  She  was  bracing 
herself  to  go  and  rouse  him  to  dress  for  mess. 
Slowly,  at  last,  she  turned  to  go.  But  at  the  same 
instant  a  voice  called  to  her  from  below,  and  she 
stopped  short. 

"Ah,  don't  run  away!"  it  said.  "I've  come  on 
purpose  to  see  you — on  a  matter  of  importance." 

Reluctantly  Hope  waited.  She  knew  the  voice 
well,  and  it  made  her  quiver  in  every  nerve  with 
the  instinct  of  flight.  Yet  she  summoned  all  her 
resolution  and  stood  still,  while  Hyde  calmly 
mounted  the  veranda  steps  and  approached  her. 
He  was  in  riding-dress,  and  he  carried  a  crop, 
walking  with  all  the  swaggering  insolence  that  she 
loathed. 

"There's  something  I  want  to  say  to  you,"  he 
said.  "I  can  come  in,  I  suppose?  It  won't  take 
me  long." 

He  took  her  permission  for  granted,  and  turned 
into  the  drawing-room.  Hope  followed  him  in 
silence.  She  could  not  pretend  to  this  man  that 
his  presence  was  a  pleasure  to  her.  She  hated  him, 
and  deep  in  her  heart  she  feared  him  as  she  feared 
no  one  else  in  the  world. 

He  looked  at  her  with  eyes  of  cynical  criticism 
by  the  light  of  the  shaded  lamp.  She  felt  that 


A  Debt  of  Honour  73 

there  was  something  worse  than  insolence  about 
him  that  night — something  of  cruelty,  of  brutality 
even,  from  which  she  was  powerless  to  escape. 

' '  Come ! "  he  said,  as  she  did  not  speak.  ' '  Doesn't 
it  occur  to  you  that  I  have  been  a  particularly  good 
friend  to  you  to-day?" 

Hope  faced  him  steadily.  Twice  before  she  had 
evaded  this  man,  but  she  knew  that  to-night 
evasion  was  out  of  the  question.  She  must  con 
front  him  without  panic,  and  alone. 

"I  think  you  must  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  she 
said,  her  voice  very  low. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently,  and 
then  laughed  at  her — his  abominable,  mocking 
laugh. 

"I  have  noticed  before,"  he  said,  "that  when  a 
woman  finds  herself  in  a  tight  corner,  she 
invariably  tries  to  divert  attention  by  asking 
unnecessary  questions.  It's  a  harmless  little 
stratagem  that  may  serve  her  turn.  But  in  this 
case,  let  me  assure  you,  it  is  sheer  waste  of  time.  I 
hold  you — and  your  brother,  also — in  the  hollow  of 
my  hand.  And  you  know  it." 

He  spoke  slowly,  with  a  confidence  from  which 
there  was  no  escape.  His  eyes  still  closely  watched 
her  face.  And  Hope  felt  again  that  wild  terror, 
which  only  he  had  ever  inspired  in  her,  knocking 
at  her  heart. 

She  did  not  ask  him  a  second  time  what  he 
meant.  He  had  made  her  realize  the  utter  futility 
of  prevarication.  Instead,  she  forced  herself  to 


74  Rosa  Mundi 

meet  his  look  boldly,  and  grapple  with  him  with  all 
her  desperate  courage. 

"My  brother  owed  you  a  debt  of  honour,"  sh 
said;  "and  it  has  been  paid.     What  more  do  you 
want?" 

A  glitter  of  admiration  shone  for  a  moment 
through  his  cynicism.  This  was  better  than 
meek  surrender.  A  woman  who  fought  was  worth 
conquering. 

"You  are  not  going  to  acknowledge,  then,"  he 
said,  "that  you — you  personally — are  in  any  way 
indebted  to  me?" 

' '  Certainly  not ! ' '  The  girl's  eyes  did  not  flinch 
before  his.  Save  that  she  was  trembling,  he  would 
scarcely  have  detected  her  fear.  ' '  You  have  done 
nothing  for  me, ' '  she  said.  ' '  You  only  served  your 
own  purpose." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Hyde  softly.  "So  that  is 
how  you  look  at  it,  is  it?" 

He  moved,  and  went  close  to  her.  Still  she  did 
not  shrink.  She  was  fighting  desperately— 
desperately — a  losing  battle. 

"Well,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  in  which  she 
withstood  him  silently  with  all  her  strength,  "in 
one  sense  that  is  true.  I  did  serve  my  own  purpose. 
But  have  you,  I  wonder,  any  idea  what  that 
purpose  of  mine  was?" 

He  waited,  but  she  did  not  answer  him.  She 
was  nearly  at  the  end  of  her  strength.  Hyde  did 
not  offer  to  touch  her.  He  only  smiled  a  little  at 
the  rising  panic  in  her  white  face. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  75 

"Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  now? "  he 
said.  "I  am  going  to  mess — it's  a  guest  night — 
and  they  will  drink  my  health  as  the  winner  of  the 
Ghantala  Cup.  And  then  I  shall  propose  some 
one  else's  health.  Can  you  guess  whose?" 

She  shrank  then,  shrank  perceptibly,  painfully, 
as  the  victim  must  shrink,  despite  all  his  resolution, 
from  the  hot  iron  of  the  torturer. 

Hyde  stood  for  a  second  longer,  watching  her. 
Then  he  turned.  There  was  fiendish  triumph  in 
his  eyes. 

"Good-bye!  "he  said. 

She  caught  her  breath  sharply,  spasmodically, 
as  one  who  suppresses  a  cry  of  pain.  And  then, 
before  he  reached  the  window,  she  spoke : 

"Please  wait!" 

He  turned  instantly,  and  came  back  to  her. 

' '  Come ! "  he  said.  ' '  You  are  going  to  be  reason 
able  after  all." 

"What  is  it  that  you  want?"  Her  desperation 
sounded  in  her  voice.  She  looked  at  him  with 
eyes  of  wild  appeal.  Her  defiance  was  all  gone. 
The  smile  went  out  of  Hyde's  face,  and  suddenly 
she  saw  the  primitive  savage  in  possession.  She 
had  seen  it  before,  but  till  that  moment  she  had 
never  realized  quite  what  it  was. 

"What  do  I  want  ? "  he  said.  ' '  I  want  you,  and 
you  know  it.  That  fellow  Baring  is  not  the  man 
for  you.  You  are  going  to  give  him  up.  Do 
you  hear?  Or  else — if  you  prefer  it — he  will  give 
vou  up.  I  don't  care  which  it  is,  but  one  or  the 


76  Rosa  Mundi 

other  it  shall  be.  Now  do  we  understand  one 
another?" 

Hope  stared  at  him,  speechless,  horror-stricken, 
helpless ! 

He  came  nearer  to  her,  but  she  did  not  recoil, 
for  as  a  serpent  holds  its  prey,  so  he  held  her. 
She  wanted  to  protest,  to  resist  him  fiercely,  but 
she  was  mute.  Even  the  power  to  flee  was  taken 
from  her.  She  could  only  stand  as  if  chained  to 
the  ground,  stiff  and  paralyzed,  awaiting  his 
pleasure.  No  nightmare  terror  had  ever  so  ob 
sessed  her.  The  agony  of  it  was  like  a  searing  flame. 

And  Hyde,  seeing  her  anguished  helplessness, 
came  nearer  still  with  a  sort  of  exultant  deliber 
ation,  and  put  his  arm  about  her  as  she  stood. 

"I  thought  I  should  win  the  trick,"  he  said,  with 
a  laugh  that  seemed  to  turn  her  to  ice.  "Didn't  I 
tell  you  weeks  ago  that  I  had — Hope?" 

She  did  not  attempt  to  answer  or  to  resist.  Her 
lips  were  quite  bloodless.  A  surging  darkness  was 
about  her,  but  yet  she  remained  conscious — vividly 
horribly  conscious — of  the  trap  that  had  so  sud 
denly  closed  upon  her.  Through  it  she  saw  his 
face  close  to  her  own,  with  that  sneering,  devilish 
smile  about  his  mouth  that  she  knew  so  well.  And 
the  eyes  with  their  glittering  savagery  were  mock 
ing  her — mocking  her. 

Another  instant  and  his  lips  would  have  pressed 
her  own.  He  held  her  fast,  so  fast  that  she  felt 
almost  suffocated.  It  was  the  most  hideous 
moment  of  her  life.  And  still  she  could  neither 


A  Debt  of  Honour  77 

move  nor  protest.     It  seemed  as  if,  body  and  soul, 
she  was  his  prisoner. 

But  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  he  paused.  His 
arms  slackened  and  fell  abruptly  from  her;  so 
abruptly  that  she  tottered,  feeling  vaguely  for 
support.  She  saw  his  face  change  as  he  turned 
sharply  away.  And  instinctively,  notwithstand 
ing  the  darkness  that  blinded  her,  she  knew  the 
cause.  She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes  and  strove 
to  recover  herself. 

XI 

WITHOUT  DEFENCE 

WHEN  Hope  looked  up,  the  silence  had  become 
unbearable.  She  saw  Baring  standing  quite 
motionless  near  the  window  by  which  he  had 
entered.  He  was  not  looking  at  her,  and  she  felt 
suddenly,  crushingly,  that  she  had  become  less 
than  nothing  in  his  sight,  not  so  much  as  a  thing 
to  be  ignored. 

Hyde,  quite  calm  and  self-possessed,  still  stood 
close  to  her.  But  he  had  turned  his  back  upon  her 
to  face  the  intruder.  And  she  felt  herself  to  be 
curiously  apart  from  them  both,  almost  like  a 
spectator  at  a  play. 

It  was  Hyde  who  at  last  broke  the  silence  when 
it  had  begun  to  torture  her  nerves  beyond 
endurance. 

"Perhaps  this  rencontre  is  not  as  unfortunate  as 


78  Rosa  Mundi 

it  looks  at  first  sight,"  he  remarked  complacently. 
"It  will  save  me  the  trouble  of  seeking  an  inter 
view  with  you  to  explain  what  you  are  now  in  a 
position  to  see  for  yourself.  I  believe  a  second 
choice  is  considered  a  woman's  privilege.  Miss 
Carteret,  as  you  observe,  has  just  availed  herself 
of  this.  And  I  am  afraid  that  in  consequence  you 
will  have  to  abdicate  in  my  favour." 

Baring  heard  him  out  in  complete  silence. 
As  Hyde  ended,  he  moved  quietly  forward  into  the 
room.  Hope  felt  him  drawing  nearer,  but  she 
could  not  face  him.  His  very  quietness  was 
terrible  to  her,  and  she  was  desperately  conscious 
that  she  had  no  weapon  of  defence. 

She  had  not  thought  that  he  would  so  much  as 
notice  her,  but  she  was  wrong.  He  passed  by 
Hyde  without  a  glance,  and  reached  her. 

"What  am  I  to  understand?"  he  said. 

She  started  violently  at  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
She  knew  that  Hyde  had  turned  towards  her 
again,  but  she  looked  at  neither  of  them.  She  was 
trembling  so  that  she  could  scarcely  stand.  Her 
very  lips  felt  cold,  and  she  could  not  utter  a  word. 

After  a  brief  pause  Baring  spoke  again:  "Can't 
you  answer  me?" 

There  was  no  anger  in  his  voice,  but  there  was 
also  no  kindness.  She  knew  that  he  was  watching 
her  with  a  piercing  scrutiny,  and  she  dared  not 
raise  her  eyes.  She  shook  her  head  at  last,  as  he 
waited  for  her  reply. 

"Are  you  willing  for  me  to  take  an  explanation 


A  Debt  of  Honour  79 

from  Mr.  Hyde?"  he  asked;  and  his  tone  rang 
suddenly  hard.  "Has  he  the  right  to  explain?" 

"Of  course  I  have  the  right,"  said  Hyde  easily. 
"Tell  him  so,  Hope!" 

Baring  bent  towards  the  girl. 

"If  he  has  the  right,"  he  said,  his  voice  quiet  but 
very  insistent,  "look  me  in  the  face — and  tell  me 
so!" 

She  made  a  convulsive  effort  and  looked  up  at 
him. 

"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  whisper.  "He  has  the 
right." 

Baring  straightened  himself  abruptly,  almost  as 
if  he  had  received  a  blow  in  the  face. 

He  stood  for  a  second  silent.     Then : 

"Where  is  your  brother?"  he  asked. 

Hope  hesitated,  and  at  once  Hyde  answered  for 
her. 

"He  isn't  back  yet.     He  stopped  at  the  club." 

"That,"  said  Baring  sternly,  "is  a  lie." 

He  laid  his  hand  suddenly  upon  Hope's 
shoulder. 

"Surely  you  can  tell  me  the  truth  at  least!"  he 
said. 

Something  in  his  tone  pierced  the  wild  panic  at 
her  heart.  She  looked  up  at  him  again,  meeting 
the  mastery  of  his  eyes. 

"He  is  in  his  room,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Hyde 
didn't  know." 

Hyde  laughed,  and  at  the  sound  the  hand  on 
Hope's  shoulder  closed  like  a  vice,  till  she  bit  her 


8o  Rosa  Mundi 

lip  with  the  effort  to  endure  the  pain.  Baring  saw 
it,  and  instantly  set  her  free. 

"Go  to  your  brother,"  he  said,  "and  ask  him  to 
come  and  speak  to  me!" 

The  authority  in  his  voice  was  not  to  be  gain 
said.  She  threw  an  imploring  look  at  Hyde,  and 
went.  She  fled  like  a  wild  creature  along  the 
veranda  to  her  brother's  room,  and  tapped  fever 
ishly,  frantically  at  the  window.  Then  she  paused 
listening  intently  for  a  reply.  But  she  could  hear 
nothing  save  the  loud  beating  of  her  heart.  It 
drummed  in  her  ears  like  the  hoofs  of  a  galloping 
horse.  Desperately  she  knocked  again. 

' '  Let  me  in ! "  she  gasped.     ' '  Let  me  in ! " 

There  came  a  blundering  movement,  and  the 
door  opened. 

"Hullo!"  said  Ronnie,  in  a  voice  of  sleepy  irri 
tation.  "What's  up?" 

She  stumbled  into  the  dark  room,  breathless  and 
sobbing. 

"Oh,  Ronnie!"  she  cried.  "Oh,  Ronnie;  you 
must  help  me  now!" 

He  fastened  the  door  behind  her,  and  as  she 
sank  down  half -fainting  in  a  chair,  she  heard  him 
groping  for  matches  on  the  dressing-table. 

He  struck  one,  and  lighted  a  lamp.  She  saw  that 
his  hand  was  very  shaky,  but  that  he  managed  to 
control  it.  His  face  was  pale,  and  there  were  deep 
shadows  under  his  heavy  eyes,  but  he  was  himself 
again,  and  a  thrill  of  thankfulness  ran  through  her. 
There  was  still  a  chance,  still  a  chance ! 


A  Debt  of  Honour  81 

XII 

THE    PENALTY 

FIVE  minutes  later,  or  it  might  have  been  less, 
the  brother  and  sister  stepped  out  on  to  the  ve 
randa  to  go  to  the  drawing-room.  They  had  to 
turn  a  corner  of  the  bungalow  to  reach  it,  and  the 
moment  they  did  so  Hope  stopped  dead.  A  man's 
voice,  shouting  curses,  came  from  the  open 
window;  and,  with  it,  the  sound  of  struggling  and 
the  sound  of  blows — blows  delivered  with  the 
precision  and  regularity  of  a  machine — fright 
ful,  swinging  blows  that  sounded  like  revolver 
shots. 

"What  is  it?"  gasped  Hope  in  terror.  "What 
is  it?"  But  she  knew  very  well  what  it  was;  and 
Ronnie  knew,  too. 

"You  stay  here,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  and  stop 
it." 

"No,  no!"  she  gasped  back.  "I  am  coming 
with  you;  I  must."  She  slipped  her  cold  hand 
into  his,  and  they  ran  together  towards  the 
commotion. 

Reaching  the  drawing-room  window,  Ronnie 
stopped,  and  put  the  trembling  girl  behind  him. 
But  he  himself  did  not  enter.  He  only  stood  still, 
with  a  cowed  look  on  his  face,  and  waited.  In  the 
middle  of  the  room,  Baring,  his  face  set  and 
terrible,  stood  gripping  Hyde  by  the  torn  collar  of 
his  coat  and  thrashing  him,  deliberately,  merci- 


82  Rosa  Mundi 

lessly,  with  his  own  riding- whip.  How  long  the 
punishment  had  gone  on  the  two  at  the  window 
could  only  guess.  But  it  was  evident  that  Hyde 
was  nearing  exhaustion.  His  face  was  purple  in 
patches,  and  the  curses  he  tried  to  utter  came 
maimed  and  broken  and  incoherent  from  his 
shaking  lips.  He  had  almost  ceased  to  struggle  in 
the  unwavering  grip  that  held  him ;  he  only  moved 
convulsively  at  each  succeeding  blow. 

"Oh,  stop  him!"  implored  Hope,  behind  her 
brother.  ' '  Stop  him ! ' '  Then,  as  he  did  not  move, 
she  pushed  wildly  past  him  into  the  room. 

Baring  saw  her,  and  instantly,  almost  as  if  he 
had  been  awaiting  her,  stayed  his  hand.  He  did 
not  speak.  He  simply  took  Hyde  by  the  shoulders 
and  half -carried,  half -propelled  him  to  the  window, 
through  which  he  thrust  him. 

He  returned  empty-handed  and  closed  the 
window.  Ronnie  had  entered,  and  was  standing 
by  his  sister,  who  had  dropped  upon  her  knees  by 
the  sofa  and  hidden  her  face  in  the  cushions,  sob 
bing  with  a  pasionate  abandonment  that  testified  to 
nerves  that  had  given  way  utterly  at  last  beneath 
a  strain  too  severe  to  be  borne.  Baring  just  glanced 
at  her,  then  turned  his  attention  to  her  brother. 

"I  have  been  doing  your  work  for  you,"  he 
remarked  grimly.  "Aren't  you  ashamed  of  your 
self?"  He  put  his  hand  upon  Ronnie,  and  twisted 
him  round  to  face  the  light,  looking  at  him  pierc 
ingly.  "Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself?"  he 
repeated. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  83 

Ronnie  met  his  eyes  irresolutely  for  a  moment, 
then  looked  away  towards  Hope.  She  had  be 
come  very  still,  but  her  face  remained  hidden. 
There  was  something  tense  about  her  attitude. 
After  a  moment  Ronnie  spoke,  his  voice  very 
low. 

' '  I  suppose  you  had  a  reason  for  what  you  have 
just  been  doing?" 

"Yes,"  Baring  said  sternly,  "I  had  a  reason. 
Do  you  mean  me  to  understand  that  you  didn't 
know  that  fellow  to  be  a  blackguard?" 

Ronnie  made  no  answer.  He  stood  like  a 
beaten  dog. 

"If  you  didn't  know  it,"  Baring  continued,  "I 
am  sorry  for  your  intelligence.  If  you  did,  you 
deserve  the  same  treatment  as  he  has  just 
received." 

Hope  stirred  at  the  words,  stirred  and  moaned, 
as  if  she  were  in  pain;  and  again  momentarily 
Baring  glanced  at  her.  But  his  face  showed  no 
softening. 

"I  mean  what  I  say,"  he  said,  turning  inexorably 
to  Ronnie.  "I  told  you  long  ago  that  that  man 
was  not  fit  to  associate  with  your  sister.  You  must 
have  known  it  for  yourself;  yet  you  continued  to 
bring  him  to  the  house.  What  I  have  just  done 
was  in  her  defence.  Mark  that,  for — as  you  know 
—I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  acting  hastily.  But 
there  are  some  offences  that  only  a  horsewhip 
can  punish."  He  set  the  boy  free  with  a  con 
temptuous  gesture,  and  crossed  the  room  to 


84  Rosa  Mundi 

Hope.  "Now  I  have  something  to  say  to  you," 
he  said. 

She  started  and  quivered,  but  she  did  not  raise 
her  head.  Very  quietly  he  stooped  and  lifted  her 
up.  He  saw  that  she  was  too  upset  for  the 
moment  to  control  herself,  and  he  put  her  into  a 
chair  and  waited  beside  her.  After  several  seconds 
she  slipped  a  trembling  hand  into  his,  and  spoke. 

"Monty,"  she  said,  "I  have  something  to  say 
to  you  first." 

Her  action  surprised  him.  It  touched  him  also, 
but  he  did  not  show  it. 

"I  am  listening,"  he  said  gravely. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  uttered  a  sharp  sigh. 
Then,  with  an  effort,  she  rose  and  faced  him. 

' '  You  are  very  angry  with  me, ' '  she  said.  ' '  You 
are  going  to — to — give  me  up." 

His  face  hardened.  He  looked  back  at  her  with 
a  sternness  that  sent  the  blood  to  her  heart.  He 
said  nothing  whatever.  She  went  on  with 
difficulty. 

"But  before  you  do,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  tell 
you  that — that — ever  since  you  asked  me  to  marry 
you  I  have  loved  you — with  my  whole  heart ;  and  I 
have  never — in  thought  or  deed — been  other  than 
true  to  my  love.  I  can't  tell  you  any  more  than 
that.  It  is  no  good  to  question  me.  I  may  have 
done  things  of  which  you  would  strongly  dis 
approve,  which  you  would  even  condemn,  but  my 
heart  has  always  been  true  to  you — always." 

She  stopped.     Her  lips  were  quivering  painfully. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  85 

She  saw  that  her  words  had  not  moved  him  to 
confidence  in  her,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole 
world  had  suddenly  turned  dark  and  empty  and 
cold — a  place  to  wander  in,  but  never  to  rest. 

A  long  silence  followed  that  supreme  effort  of 
hers.  Baring's  eyes — blue,  merciless  as  steel — 
were  fixed  upon  her  in  a  gaze  that  pierced  and  hurt 
her.  Yet  he  forced  her  to  endure  it.  He  held 
her  in  front  of  him  ruthlessly,  almost  cruelly. 

"So  I  am  not  to  question  you?"  he  said  at  last. 
"You  object  to  that?" 

She  winced  at  his  tone. 

"Don't!"  she  said  under  her  breath.  "Don't 
hurt  me  more — more  than  you  need!" 

He  was  silent  again,  grimly,  interminably  silent, 
it  seemed  to  her.  And  all  the  while  she  felt  him 
doing  battle  with  her,  beating  down  her  resistance, 
mastering  her,  compelling  her. 

"Hope!"  he  said  at  length. 

She  looked  up  at  him.  Her  knees  were  shaking 
under  her.  Her  heart  was  beginning  to  whisper 
that  her  strength  was  nearly  spent ;  that  she  would 
not  be  able  to  resist  much  longer. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said  very  quietly,  "this  one  thing 
only !  What  is  the  hold  that  Hyde  has  over  you  ? ' ' 

She  shook  her  head. 

"That  is  the  one  thing — 

"It  is  the  one  thing  that  I  must  know,"  he  said 
sternly. 

She  was  white  to  the  lips. 

"I  can't  answer  you,"  she  said. 


86  Rosa  Mundi 

"You  must  answer  me ! ' '  He  turned  her  quiver 
ing  face  up  to  his  own.  ' '  Do  you  hear  me,  Hope  ? " 
he  said.  "I  insist  upon  your  answering  me." 

He  still  spoke  quietly,  but  she  was  suddenly 
aware  that  he  was  putting  forth  his  whole  strength. 
It  came  upon  her  like  a  physical,  crushing  weight. 
It  overwhelmed  her.  She  hid  her  face  with  an 
anguished  cry.  He  had  conquered  her. 

In  another  moment  she  would  have  yielded. 
Her  opposition  was  dead.  But  abruptly, 
unexpectedly,  there  came  an  interruption. 
Ronnie,  very  pale,  and  looking  desperate,  came 
between  them. 

"Look  here,  sir,"  he  said,  "you — you  are  going 
too  far.  I  can't  have  my  sister  coerced  in  this  fash 
ion.  If  she  prefers  to  keep  this  matter  to  herself, 
she  must  do  so.  You  can't  force  her  to  speak." 

Baring  released  Hope  and  turned  upon  him 
almost  violently,  but,  seeing  the  unusual,  if  pre 
carious,  air  of  resolution  with  which  Ronnie  con 
fronted  him,  he  checked  himself.  He  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  room  and  back  before  he  spoke. 
His  features  were  set  like  a  mask  when  he  returned. 

"You  may  be  right,"  he  said,  "though  I  think  it 
would  have  been  better  for  everyone  if  you  had 
not  interfered.  Hope,  I  am  going.  If  you  cannot 
bring  yourself  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth  without 
reservation,  there  can  be  nothing  further  between 
us.  I  fear  that,  after  all,  I  spoke  too  soon.  I  can 
enter  upon  no  compact  that  is  not  based  upon 
absolute  confidence." 


A  Debt  of  Honour  87 

He  spoke  coldly,  decidedly,  without  a  trace  of 
feeling;  and,  having  spoken,  he  went  deliberately 
to  the  window.  There  he  stood  for  a  few  seconds 
with  his  back  turned  upon  the  room;  then,  as  the 
silence  remained  unbroken,  he  quietly  lifted  the 
catch  and  let  himself  out. 

In  the  room  he  left  not  a  word  was  spoken  for 
many  tragic  minutes. 

XIII 

THE  CURSE  OF  THE  VALLEY 

HOPE  had  some  difficulty  in  persuading  Ronnie 
to  attend  mess  that  night,  though,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  was  longing  for  solitude. 

He  went  at  last,  and  she  was  glad,  for  a  great 
restlessness  possessed  her  to  which  it  was  a  relief 
to  give  way.  She  wandered  about  the  veranda  in 
the  dark  after  his  departure,  trying  to  realize  fully 
what  had  happened.  It  had  all  come  upon  her  so 
suddenly.  She  had  been  forced  to  act  throughout 
without  a  moment's  pause  for  thought.  Now  that 
it  was  all  over  she  wanted  to  collect  herself  and 
face  the  worst. 

Her  engagement  was  at  an  end.  It  was  mainly 
that  fact  that  she  wished  to  grasp.  But  somehow 
she  found  it  very  difficult.  She  had  grown  into 
the  habit  of  regarding  herself  as  belonging  exclus 
ively  and  for  all  time  to  Montagu  Baring. 

"He  has  given  me  up!     He  has  given  me  up!" 


88  Rosa  Mundi 

she  whispered  to  herself,  as  she  paced  to  and  fro 
along  the  crazy  veranda.  She  recalled  the  look  his 
face  had  worn,  the  sternness,  the  pitilessness  of  his 
eyes.  She  had  always  felt  at  the  back  of  her  heart 
that  he  had  it  in  him  to  be  hard,  merciless.  But 
she  had  not  really  thought  that  she  would  ever 
shrink  beneath  the  weight  of  his  anger.  She  had 
trusted  blindly  to  his  love  to  spare  her.  She  had 
imagined  herself  to  be  so  dear  to  him  that  she 
must  be  exempt.  Others — it  did  not  surprise  her 
that  others  feared  him.  But  she — his  promised 
wife — what  could  she  have  to  fear? 

She  paused  at  the  end  of  the  veranda,  looking 
up.  The  night  was  full  of  stars,  and  it  was  very 
cold.  At  the  bottom  of  the  compound  she  heard 
the  water  running  swiftly.  It  did  not  chuckle 
any  more.  It  had  become  a  miniature  roar.  It 
almost  seemed  to  threaten  her. 

She  remembered  how  she  had  listened  to  it  in 
the  morning,  sitting  in  the  sunshine,  dreaming;  and 
her  heart  suddenly  contracted  with  a  pain  intoler 
able.  Those  golden  dreams  were  over  for  ever. 
He  had  given  her  up. 

Again  her  restlessness  urged  her.  Cold  as  it 
was,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  go  indoors. 
She  descended  into  the  compound,  passed  swiftly 
through  it,  and  began  to  climb  the  rough  ground  of 
the  hill  that  rose  behind  it  above  the  native  village. 

The  Magician's  bungalow  looked  very  ghostly 
in  the  starlight.  Presently  she  paused,  and  stood 
motionless,  gazing  down  at  it.  She  remembered 


A  Debt  of  Honour  89 

how,  when  she  and  her  uncle  had  first  come  to  it, 
the  native  servants  had  told  them  of  the  curse  that 
had  been  laid  upon  it ;  of  the  evil  spirits  that  had 
dwelt  there ;  of  voices  that  had  cried  in  the  night ! 
Was  it  true,  she  wondered  vaguely  ?  Was  it  pos 
sible  for  a  place  to  be  cursed? 

A  faint  breeze  ran  down  the  valley,  stirring  the 
trees  to  a  furtive  whispering.  Again,  subcon 
sciously,  she  was  aware  of  the  cold,  and  moved  to 
return.  At  the  same  moment  there  came  a  sound 
like  the  report  of  a  cannon  half  a  mile  away,  fol 
lowed  by  a  long  roar  that  was  unlike  anything  she 
had  ever  heard — a  sound  so  appalling,  so  over 
whelming,  that  for  an  instant,  seized  with  a  name 
less  terror,  she  stood  as  one  turned  to  stone. 

And  then — before  the  impulse  of  flight  to  the 
bungalow  had  reached  her  brain — the  whole 
terrible  disaster  burst  upon  her.  Like  a  monster 
of  destruction,  that  which  had  been  a  gurgling 
stream  rose  above  its  banks  in  a  mighty,  brown 
flood,  surged  like  an  inrushing  sea  over  the  moonlit 
compound,  and  swept  down  the  valley,  turning  it 
into  a  whirling  turmoil  of  water. 

XIV 

HOW  THE  TALE  WAS  TOLD 

RONNIE  CARTERET  was  the  subject  of  a  good 
deal  of  chaff  that  night  at  mess.  The  Rajah  was 
being  entertained,  and  he  was  the  only  man  who 


90  Rosa  Mundi 

paid  the  young  officer  any  compliments  on  the 
matter  of  his  achievement  on  the  racecourse. 
Everyone  else  openly  declared  that  the  horse,  and 
not  its  rider,  was  the  one  to  be  congratulated. 

"Never  saw  anything  so  ludicrous  in  my  life," 
one  critic  said.  "He  looked  like  a  rag  doll  in  the 
saddle.  How  he  managed  to  stick  on  passes  me. 
Is  it  the  latest  from  America,  Ronnie?  Leaves 
something  to  be  desired,  old  chap !  I  should  stick 
to  the  old  style,  if  I  were  you." 

Ronnie  had  no  answer  for  the  comments  and 
advice  showered  upon  him  from  all  sides.  He 
received  them  all  in  silence,  sullenly  ignoring 
derisive  questions. 

Hyde  was  not  present,  to  the  surprise  of  every 
one.  All  knew  that  he  had  been  invited,  and  there 
was  some  speculation  upon  his  non-appearance. 

Baring  was  there,  quiet  and  self-contained  as 
usual.  No  one  ever  chaffed  Baring.  It  was 
generally  recognized  that  he  did  not  provide  good 
sport.  When  the  toasts  were  over  he  left  the 
table. 

It  was  soon  after  his  departure  that  a  sound  like 
a  distant  explosion  was  heard  by  those  in  the 
messroom,  causing  some  discussion  there. 

"It's  only  some  fool  letting  off  fireworks,"  some 
one  said ;  and  as  this  seemed  a  reasonable  explana 
tion,  no  one  troubled  to  enquire  further.  And  so 
fully  half  an  hour  passed  before  the  truth  was 
known. 

It  was  Baring  who  came  in  with  the  news,  and 


A  Debt  of  Honour  91 

none  who  saw  it  ever  forgot  his  face  as  he  threw 
open  the  messroom  door.  It  was  like  the  face  of 
a  man  suddenly  stricken  with  a  mortal  hurt. 

"Heavens,  man!  What's  the  matter?"  the 
colonel  exclaimed,  at  sight  of  him.  "You  look  as 
if— as  if " 

Baring  glanced  round  till  his  eyes  fell  upon 
Ronnie,  and,  when  he  spoke,  he  seemed  to  be 
addressing  him  alone. 

"The  dam  has  burst,"  he  said,  his  words  curt, 
distinct,  unfaltering.  "The  whole  of  the  lower 
valley  is  flooded.  The  Magician's  bungalow  has 
been  swept  away!" 

"What?"  gasped  Ronnie.     "What?" 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  the  awful  look  in  Baring's 
eyes  reflected  in  his  own,  and  made  a  dash  for  the 
doorway  in  which  Baring  stood.  He  stumbled  as 
he  reached,  it  and  the  latter  threw  out  a  supporting 
arm. 

"It's  no  use  your  going,"  he  said,  his  voice 
hard  and  mechanical.  "There's  nothing  to  be 
done.  I've  been  as  near  as  it  is  possible  to  get. 
It's  nothing  but  a  raging  torrent  half  a  mile 
across." 

He  moved  straight  forward  to  a  chair,  and  thrust 
the  boy  down  into  it.  There  was  a  terrible  stiffness 
— almost  a  fixity — about  him.  He  did  not  seem 
conscious  of  the  men  that  crowded  round  him. 
It  was  not  his  habitual  reserve  that  kept  him  from 
collapse  at  that  moment;  it  was  rather  a  stunned 
sense  of  expediency. 


92  Rosa  Mundi 

"There's  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  repeated. 

He  looked  down  at  Ronnie,  who  was  clutching 
at  the  table  with  both  hands,  and  making 
ineffectual  efforts  to  speak. 

"Give  him  some  brandy,  one  of  you!"  he  said. 

Someone  held  a  glass  against  the  boy's  chatter 
ing  teeth.  The  colonel  poured  some  spirit  into 
another  and  gave  it  to  Baring.  He  took  it  with  a 
hand  that  seemed  steady,  but  the  next  instant  it 
slipped  through  his  fingers  and  smashed  on  the 
floor.  He  turned  sharply,  not  heeding  it.  Most 
of  the  men  in  the  room  were  on  their  way  out  to 
view  the  catastrophe  for  themselves.  He  made 
as  if  to  follow  them;  then,  as  if  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought,  he  paused. 

Ronnie,  deathly  pale,  and  shaking  all  over,  was 
fighting  his  way  back  to  self-control.  Baring 
moved  back  to  him  with  less  of  stiffness  and  more 
of  his  usual  strength  of  purpose. 

' '  Do  you  care  to  come  with  me  ? "  he  said. 

Ronnie  looked  up  at  him.  Then,  though  he 
still  shivered  violently,  he  got  up  without  speaking ; 
and,  in  silence,  they  went  away  together. 

XV 

THE  NIGHT  OF  DESPAIR 

NOT  till  more  than  two  hours  later  did  Ronnie 
break  his  silence.  He  would  have  tramped  the 
hills  all  night  above  the  flooded  valley,  but  Baring 


A  Debt  of  Honour  93 

would  not  suffer  it.  He  dragged  him  almost 
forcibly  away  from  the  scene  of  desolation,  where 
the  water  still  flowed  strongly,  carrying  trees  and 
all  manner  of  wreckage  on  its  course.  And, 
though  he  was  almost  beside  himself,  the  boy 
yielded  at  last.  For  Baring  compelled  obedience 
that  night.  He  took  Ronnie  back  to  his  own 
quarters,  but  on  the  threshold  Ronnie  drew  back. 

"I  can't  come  in  with  you,"  he  said. 

Baring's  hand  was  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  must,"  he  answered  quietly. 

"I  can't,"  Ronnie  persisted,  with  an  effort.  "I 
can't!  I'm  a  cur;  I'm  worse.  You  wouldn't  ask 
me  if  you  knew." 

Baring  paused,  then,  with  a  strange,  unwonted 
gentleness,  he  took  the  boy's  arm  and  led  him 
in.  "Never  mind!"  he  said. 

Ronnie  went  with  him,  but  in  Baring's  room  he 
faced  him  with  the  courage  of  despair. 

"You'll  have  to  know  it,"  he  said  jerkily.  "It 
was  my  doing  that  you — and  she — parted  as  you 
did.  She  was  going  to  tell  you  the  truth.  I 
prevented  her — for  my  own  sake — not  hers.  I — I 
came  between  you." 

Baring's  hand  fell,  but  neither  his  face  nor  his 
tone  varied  as  he  made  steady  reply. 

' '  I  guessed  it  might  be  that — afterwards.  I  was 
on  my  way  to  tell  her  so  when  the  dam  went." 

"That  isn't  all,"  Ronnie  went  on  feverishly. 
"I'm  worse  than  that,  worse  even  than  she  knew. 
I  engaged  to  ride  Hyde's  horse  to — to  discharge  a 


94  Rosa  Mundi 

debt  I  owed  him.  I  told  her  it  was  a  debt  of 
honour.  It  wasn't.  It  was  to  cover  theft.  I 
swindled  him  once,  and  he  found  out.  I  hated  rid 
ing  his  horse,  but  it  would  have  meant  open  dis 
grace  if  I  hadn't.  She  knew  it  was  urgent.  And 
then  at  the  last  moment  I  was  thirsty ;  I  overdid  it. 
No;  confound  it,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth!  I  went 
home  drunk,  too  drunk  to  sit  a  horse.  And  so  she 
— she  sent  me  to  bed,  and  went  in  my  place. 
That's  the  thing  she  wouldn't  tell  you,  the  thing 
Hyde  knew.  She  always  hated  the  man — always. 
She  only  endured  him  for  my  sake. ' '  He  broke  off. 
Baring  was  looking  at  him  as  if  he  thought  that 
he  were  raving.  After  a  moment  Ronnie  realized 
this.  "It's  the  truth,"  he  said.  "I've  told  you 
the  truth.  I  never  won  the  cup.  I  didn't  know 
anything  more  about  it  till  it  was  over  and  she  told 
me.  I  don't  wonder  you  find  it  hard  to  believe. 
But  I  swear  it's  the  truth.  Now  let  me  go — and 
shoot  myself!" 

He  flung  round  distractedly,  but  Baring  stopped 
him.  There  was  no  longer  any  hardness  about 
him,  only  compassionate  kindness,  as  he  made  him 
sit  down,  and  gravely  shut  the  door.  When  he 
spoke,  it  was  not  to  utter  a  word  of  reproach  or 
blame. 

"No,  don't  go,  boy!"  he  said,  in  a  tone  that 
Ronnie  never  forgot.  "We'll  face  this  thing 
together.  May  God  help  us  both !" 

And  Ronnie,  yielding  once  more,  leaned  his  head 
in  his  hands,  and  burst  into  anguished  tears. 


A  Debt  of  Honour  95 

XVI 

THE  COMING  OF  HOPE 

How  they  got  through  the  dragging  hours  of 
that  awful  night  neither  of  them  afterwards  quite 
knew.  They  spoke  very  little,  and  slept  not  at 
all.  When  morning  came  at  last  they  were  still 
sitting  in  silence  as  if  they  watched  the  dead,  linked 
together  as  brothers  by  a  bond  that  was  sacred. 

It  was  soon  after  sunrise  that  a  message  came  for 
Ronnie  from  the  colonel's  bungalow  next  door  to 
the  effect  that  the  commanding-officer  wished  to 
see  him.  He  looked  at  Baring  as  he  received 
it. 

"I  wish  you'd  come  with  me,"  he  said. 

Baring  rose  at  once.  He  knew  that  the  boy  was 
depending  very  largely  upon  his  support  just  then. 
The  sunshine  seemed  to  mock  them  as  they  went. 
It  was  a  day  of  glorious  Indian  winter,  than  which 
there  is  nothing  more  exquisite  on  earth,  save  one 
of  English  spring.  The  colonel  met  them  on  his 
own  veranda.  He  noted  Ronnie's  haggard  face 
with  a  quick  glance  of  pity. 

"I  sent  for  you,  my  lad,"  he  said,  "because  I 
have  just  heard  a  piece  of  news  that  I  thought  I 
ought  to  pass  on  at  once." 

"News,  sir?"  Ronnie  echoed  the  word  sharply. 

"Yes;  news  of  your  sister."  The  colonel  gave 
him  a  keen  look,  then  went  on  in  a  tone  of  reassur 
ing  kindness  that  both  his  listeners  found  madden- 


96  Rosa  Mundi 

ingly  deliberate.  "She  was  not,  it  seems,  in  the 
bungalow  at  the  time  the  dam  burst.  She  was  out 
on  the  hillside,  and  so —  My  dear  fellow,  for 
Heaven's  sake  pull  yourself  together!  Things  are 
better  than  you  think.  She —  He  did  not 
finish,  for  Ronnie  suddenly  sprang  past  him  with 
a  loud  cry.  A  girl's  figure  had  appeared  in  the 
doorway  of  the  colonel's  drawing-room.  Ronnie 
plunged  in,  and  it  was  seen  no  more. 

The  colonel  turned  to  Baring  for  sympathy,  and 
found  that  the  latter  had  abruptly,  almost  vio 
lently,  turned  his  back.  It  surprised  him  con 
siderably,  for  he  had  often  declared  his  conviction 
that  under  no  circumstances  would  this  officer  of 
his  lose  his  iron  composure.  Baring's  behaviour 
of  the  night  before  had  seemed  to  corroborate  this ; 
in  fact,  he  had  even  privately  thought  him  some 
what  cold-blooded. 

But  his  present  conduct  seemed  to  indicate  that 
even  Baring  was  human,  notwithstanding  his 
strength ;  and  in  his  heart  the  colonel  liked  him  for 
it.  After  a  moment  he  began  to  speak,  consider 
ately  ignoring  the  other's  attitude. 

"She  was  providentially  on  the  further  hill  when 
it  happened,  and  she  had  great  difficulty  in  getting 
round  to  us;  lost  her  way  several  times,  poor  girl, 
and  only  panic-stricken  natives  to  direct  her.  It's 
been  a  shocking  disaster — the  native  village 
entirely  swept  away,  though  not  many  European 
lives  lost,  I  am  glad  to  say.  But  Hyde  is  among 
the  missing.  You  knew  Hyde  ?" 


A  Debt  of  Honour  97 

"I  knew  him — well."  Baring's  words  seemed 
to  come  with  an  effort. 

"Ah,  well,  poor  fellow;  he  probably  didn't  know 
much  about  it.  Terrible,  a  thing  of  this  sort.  It's 
impossible  yet  to  estimate  the  damage,  but  the 
whole  of  the  lower  valley  is  devastated.  The 
Magician's  bungalow  has  entirely  disappeared,  I 
hear.  A  good  thing  the  old  man  was  away  from 
home." 

At  this  point,  to  Colonel  Latimer's  relief,  Baring 
turned.  He  was  paler  than  usual,  but  there  was 
no  other  trace  of  emotion  about  him. 

"If  you  will  allow  me,"  he  said,  "I  should  like 
to  go  and  speak  to  her,  too." 

"Certainly,"  the  colonel  said  heartily.  "Cer 
tainly.  Go  at  once!  No  doubt  she  is  expecting 
you.  Tell  the  youngster  I  want  him  out  here!" 

And  Baring  went. 


If  Hope  did  expect  him,  she  certainly  did  not 
anticipate  the  manner  of  his  coming.  The  man 
who  entered  the  colonel's  drawing-room  was  not, 
the  man  who  had  striven  with  a  mastery  that  was 
almost  brutal  to  bring  her  into  subjection  only  the 
day  before.  She  could  not  have  told  wherein  the 
difference  lay,  but  she  was  keenly  aware  of  its 
existence.  And  because  of  her  knowledge  she  felt 
no  misgiving,  no  shadow  of  fear.  She  did  not  so- 
much  as  wait  for  him  to  come  to  her.  Simply 
moved  by  the  woman's  instinct  that  cannot  err,. 


98  Rosa  Mundi 

she  went  straight  to  him,  and  so  into  his  arms, 
clinging  to  him  with  a  little  sobbing  laugh,  and  not 
speaking  at  all,  because  there  were  no  words  that 
could  express  what  she  yet  found  it  so  sublimely 
easy  to  tell  him.  Baring  did  not  speak  either, 
but  he  had  a  different  reason  for  his  silence.  He 
only  held  her  closely  to  him,  till  presently,  raising 
her  face  to  his,  she  understood.  And  she  laughed 
again,  laughed  through  tears. 

"Weren't  you  rather  quick  to  give  up — hope?" 
she  whispered. 

He  did  not  answer  her,  but  she  found  nothing 
discouraging  in  his  silence.  Rather,  it  seemed  to 
inspire  her.  She  slipped  her  arms  round  his  neck. 
Her  tears  were  nearly  gone. 

"Hope  doesn't  die  so  easily,"  she  said  softly. 
"And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing  that  is  ever  so 
much  harder  to  kill,  that  can  never  die  at  all,  in 
fact;  or,  perhaps  I  needn't.  Perhaps  you  can 
guess  what  it  is?" 

And  again  he  did  not  answer  her.  He  only  bent, 
holding  her  fast  pressed  against  his  heart,  and 
kissed  her  fiercely,  passionately,  even  violently, 
upon  the  lips. 

"My  Hope!"  he  said.     "My  Hope!" 


The   Deliverer1 


A  PROMISE  OF  MARRIAGE 

THE  band  was  playing  very  softly,  very 
dreamily;  it  might  have  been  a  lullaby.  The  girl 
who  stood  on  the  balcony  of  the  great  London 
house,  with  the  moonlight  pouring  full  upon  her, 
stooped,  and  nervously,  fumblingly,  picked  up  a 
spray  of  syringa  that  had  fallen  from  among  the 
flowers  on  her  breast. 

The  man  beside  her,  dark-faced  and  grave,  put 
out  a  perfectly  steady  hand. 

"May  I  have  it?"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  the  start  of  a  trapped 
animal.  Her  face  was  very  pale.  It  was  in  strik 
ing  contrast  to  the  absolute  composure  of  his. 
Very  slowly  and  reluctantly  she  put  the  flower  into 
his  outstretched  hand. 

He  took  it,  but  he  took  her  fingers  also  and  kept 
them  in  his  own. 

1  I  desire  to  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to  the  Author — I 
regret  to  say  unknown  to  me — of  the  little  poem  which  I  have 
quoted  in  this  story. 

99 


ioo  Rosa  Mundi 

"When  will  you  marry  me,  Nina?"  he  asked. 

She  started  again  and  made  a  frightened  effort 
to  free  her  hand. 

He  smiled  faintly  and  frustrated  it. 

"When  will  you  marry  me?"  he  repeated. 

She  threw  back  her  head  with  a  gesture  of 
defiance;  but  the  courage  in  her  eyes  was  that  of 
desperation. 

"If  I  marry  you,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  purely 
and  only  for  your  money." 

He  nodded.     Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved. 

"Of  course,"  he  said.     "I  know  that." 

"And  you  want  me  under  those  conditions?" 

There  was  a  quiver  in  the  words  that  might  have 
been  either  of  scorn  or  incredulity. 

"I  want  you  under  any  conditions,"  he  re 
sponded  quietly.  ' '  Marry  my  money  by  all  means 
if  it  attracts  you !  But  you  must  take  me  with  it." 

The  girl  shrank. 

"I  can't!"  she  whispered  suddenly. 

He  released  her  hand  calmly,  imperturbably. 

"I  will  ask  you  again  to-morrow,"  he  said. 

"No!"  she  said  sharply. 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

"No!"  she  repeated,  with  a  piteous  ring  of  un 
certainty  in  her  voice.  ' '  Mr.  Wingarde,  I  say  No ! ' ' 

"But  you  don't  mean  it,"  he  said,  with  steady 
conviction. 

"  I  do  mean  it ! "  she  gasped.     ' '  I  tell  you  I  do ! " 

She  dropped  suddenly  into  a  low  chair  and 
covered  her  face  with  a  moan. 


The  Deliverer  101 

The  man  did  not  move.  He  stared  absently 
down  into  the  empty  street  as  if  waiting  for 
something.  There  was  no  hint  of  impatience 
about  his  strong  figure.  Simply,  with  absolute 
confidence,  he  waited. 

Five  minutes  passed  and  he  did  not  alter  his 
position.  The  soft  strains  in  the  room  behind 
them  had  swelled  into  music  that  was  passionately 
exultant.  It  seemed  to  fill  and  overflow  the 
silence  between  them.  Then  came  a  triumphant 
crash  and  it  ended.  From  within  sounded  the  gay 
buzz  of  laughing  voices. 

Slowly  Wingarde  turned  and  looked  at  the  bent, 
hopeless  figure  of  the  girl  in  the  chair.  He  still 
held  indifferently  between  his  fingers  the  spray  of 
white  blossom  for  which  he  had  made  request. 

He  did  not  speak.  Yet,  as  if  in  obedience  to  an 
unuttered  command,  the  girl  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  up  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  misery 
and  indecision.  They  wavered  beneath  his  steady 
gaze.  Slowly,  still  moving  as  if  under  compulsion, 
she  rose  and  stood  before  him,  white  and  slim  as  a 
flower.  She  was  quivering  from  head  to  foot. 

The  man  still  waited.  But  after  a  moment  he 
put  out  his  hand  silently. 

She  did  not  touch  it,  choosing  rather  to  lean 
upon  the  balustrade  of  the  balcony  for  support. 
Then  at  last  she  spoke,  in  a  whisper  that  seemed 
to  choke  her. 

"I  will  marry  you,"  she  said — "for  your 
money." 


102  Rosa  Mundi 

* 

"I  thought  you  would,"  Wingarde  said  very 
quietly. 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her  bent  head  and 
white  shoulders.  There  were  sparkles  of  light  in 
her  hair  that  shone  as  precious  metal  shines  in  ore. 
Her  hands  were  both  fast  gripped  upon  the  iron 
work  on  which  she  leant. 

He  took  a  step  forward  and  was  close  beside  her, 
but  he  did  not  again  offer  her  his  hand. 

"Will  you  answer  my  original  question?"  he 
said.  ' '  I  asked — when  ? " 

In  the  moonlight  he  could  see  her  shivering, 
shivering  violently.  She  shook  her  head;  but  he 
persisted. 

His  manner  was  supremely  calm  and  unhurried. 

"This  week?  "he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  again  with  more  decision. 

"Oh,  no — no!"  she  said. 

"Next?"  he  suggested. 

"No!"  she  said  again. 

He  was  looking  at  her  full  and  deliberately,  but 
she  would  not  look  at  him.  She  was  quaking  in 
every  limb.  There  was  a  pause.  Then  Wingarde 
spoke  again. 

"Why  not  next  week?"  he  asked.  "Have  you 
any  particular  reason?" 

She  glanced  at  him. 

"It  would  be — so  soon,"  she  faltered. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  A  very 
strange  smile  touched  his  grim  lips.  "Having 
made  up  your  mind  to  do  something  disagreeable, 


The  Deliverer  103 

do  you  find  shirking  till  the  last  moment  makes 
it  any  easier — any  more  palatable?  Surely  the 
sooner  it's  over 

"It  never  will  be  over,"  she  broke  in  passion 
ately.  "It  is  for  all  my  life!  Ah,  what  am  I 
saying?  Mr.  Wingarde" — she  turned  towards 
him,  her  face  quivering  painfully — "be  patient 
with  me!  I  have  given  my  promise." 

The  smile  on  his  face  deepened  into  something 
that  closely  resembled  a  sneer. 

"How  long  do  you  want  me  to  wait?"  he  said. 
"Fifty  years?" 

She  drew  back  sharply.  But  almost  instantly 
he  went  on  speaking. 

"I  will  yield  a  point,"  he  said,  "if  it  means  so 
much  to  you.  But,  you  know,  the  wedding-day 
will  dawn  eventually,  however  remote  we  make  it. 
Will  you  say  next  month?" 

The  girl's  eyes  wore  a  hunted  look,  but  she  kept 
them  raised  with  desperate  resolution.  She  did 
not  answer  him,  however.  After  a  moment  he 
repeated  his  question.  His  face  had  become  stern. 
The  lines  about  his  mouth  were  grimly  resolute. 

"Will  you  say  next  month,  Nina?"  he  said. 
"It  shall  be  the  last  day  of  it  if  you  wish.  But — 
next  month." 

His  tone  was  inexorable.  He  meant  to  win  this 
point,  and  she  knew  it. 

Her  breath  came  quickly,  unevenly ;  but  in  face 
of  his  mastery  she  made  a  great  effort  to  control 
her  agitation. 


104  Rosa  Mundi 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  and  she  spoke  more 
steadily  than  she  had  spoken  at  all  during  the 
interview.  "I  will  marry  you  next  month." 

"Will  you  fix  the  day?"  he  asked. 

She  uttered  a  sudden,  breathless  laugh — the 
reckless  laugh  of  the  loser. 

"Surely  that  cannot  matter!"  she  said.  "The 
first  day  or  the  last — as  you  say,  what  difference 
does  it  make?" 

"You  leave  the  choice  to  me?"  he  asked,  with 
out  the  smallest  change  of  countenance. 

"Certainly!"  she  said  coldly. 

"Then  I  choose  the  first,"  he  rejoined. 

And  at  the  words  she  gave  a  great  start  as  if 
already  she  repented  the  moment  of  recklessness. 

The  notes  of  a  piano  struck  suddenly  through 
the  almost  tragic  silence  that  covered  up  the  pro 
test  she  had  not  dared  to  utter.  A  few  quiet 
chords;  and  then  a  woman's  voice  began  to  sing. 
Slowly,  with  deep,  hidden  pathos,  the  words 
floated  out  into  the  night;  and,  involuntarily 
almost,  the  man  and  the  girl  stood  still  to  listen: 

Shadows  and  mist  and  night, 
Darkness  around  the  way, 

Here  a  cloud  and  there  a  star, 
Afterwards,  Day! 

Sorrow  and  grief  and  tears, 

Eyes  vainly  raised  above, 
Here  a  thorn  and  there  a  rose; 

Afterwards,  Love! 


The  Deliverer  105 

The  voice  was  glorious,  the  rendering  sublime. 
The  spell  of  the  singer  was  felt  in  the  utter  silence 
that  followed. 

Wingarde's  eyes  never  left  his  companion's  face. 
But  the  girl  had  turned  from  him.  She  was  listen 
ing,  rapt  and  eager.  She  had  forgotten  his  very 
presence  at  her  side.  As  the  last  passionate  note 
thrilled  into  silence  she  drew  a  long  breath.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Suddenly  she  came  to  earth — to  the  con 
sciousness  of  his  watching  eyes — and  her 
expression  froze  into  contemptuous  indifference. 
She  turned  her  head  and  faced  him,  scorning  the 
tears  she  could  not  hide. 

In  her  look  were  bitter  dislike,  fierce  resistance, 
outraged  pride. 

"Some  people,"  she  said,  with  a  little,  icy  smile, 
"would  prefer  to  say  'Afterwards,  Death!'  I  am 
one  of  them." 

Wingarde  looked  back  at  her  with  complete 
composure.  He  also  seemed  faintly  contemptuous. 

"You  probably  know  as  much  of  the  one  as  of 
the  other,"  he  coolly  responded. 

II 

A  RING  OF  VALUE 

"So  Nina  has  made  up  her  mind  to  retrieve  the 
family  fortunes,"  yawned  Leo,  the  second  son  of 
the  house.  "Uncommonly  generous  of  her.  My 


io6  Rosa  Mundi 

only  regret  is  that  it  didn't  occur  to  her  that  ft 
would  be  a  useful  thing  to  do  some  time  back.  Is 
the  young  man  coming  to  discuss  settlements 
to-night?" 

"What  a  beast  you  are!"  growled  Burton,  the 
eldest  son. 

"We're  all  beasts,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  returned 
Leo  complacently.  "May  as  well  say  it  as  think 
it.  She  has  simply  sold  herself  to  the  highest  bid 
der  to  get  the  poor  old  pater  out  of  Queer  Street. 
And  we  shall,  I  hope,  get  our  share  of  the  spoil.  I 
understand  that  Wingarde  is  lavish  with  his 
worldly  goods.  He  certainly  ought  to  be.  He's 
a  millionaire  of  the  first  water.  A  thousand  or  so 
distributed  among  his  wife's  relations  would  mean 
no  more  to  him  than  the  throwing  of  the  crusts 
to  the  sparrows."  He  stopped  to  laugh  lazily. 
"And  the  wife's  relations  would  flock  in  swarms  to 
the  feast,"  he  added  in  a  cynical  drawl. 

Burton  growled  again  unintelligibly.  He  strong 
ly  resented  the  sacrifice,  though  he  could  not 
deny  that  there  was  dire  need  for  it. 

The  family  fortunes  were  at  a  very  low  ebb. 
His  father's  lands  were  mortgaged  already  beyond 
their  worth,  and  he  and  his  brother  had  been 
trained  for  nothing  but  a  life  of  easy  independence. 

There  were  five  more  sons  of  the  family,  all  at 
various  stages  of  education — two  at  college,  three 
at  Eton.  It  behooved  the  only  girl  of  the  family 
to  put  her  shoulder  to  the  wheel  if  the  machine 
were  to  be  kept  going  on  its  uphill  course.  Lord 


The  Deliverer  107 

Marchmont  had  speculated  desperately  and  with 
disastrous  results  during  the  past  five  years.  His 
wife  was  hopelessly  extravagant.  And,  of  late, 
visions  of  the  bankruptcy  court  had  nearly  dis 
tracted  the  former. 

It  had  filtered  round  among  his  daughter's 
admirers  that  money,  not  rank,  would  win  the 
prize.  But  somehow  no  one  had  expected  Here 
ford  Wingarde,  the  financial  giant,  to  step  coolly 
forward  and  secure  it  for  himself.  He  had  been 
regarded  as  out  of  the  running.  Women  did  not 
like  him.  He  was  scarcely  ever  seen  in  Society. 
And  it  was  freely  rumoured  that  he  hated  women. 

Nina  Marchmont,  moreover,  had  always  treated 
him  with  marked  coldness,  as  if  to  demonstrate  the 
fact  that  his  wealth  held  no  attractions  for  her. 
On  the  rare  occasions  that  they  met  she  was  always 
ready  to  turn  aside  with  half -contemptuous  dislike 
on  her  proud  face,  and  amuse  herself  with  the 
tamest  of  her  worshippers  rather  than  hold  any 
intercourse  with  the  fabulous  monster  of  the  money- 
markets. 

Certainly  there  was  a  surprise  in  store  for  the 
world  in  which  she  moved.  It  was  also  certain 
that  she  meant  to  carry  it  through  with  rigid 
self-control. 

Meeting  her  two  brothers  at  lunch,  she  received 
the  half-shamed  congratulations  of  one  and  the 
sarcastic  comments  of  the  other  without  the 
smallest  hint  of  discomfiture.  She  had  come 
straight  from  an  interview  with  her  father  whom 


io8  Rosa  Mundi 

she  idolized,  and  his  gruff:  "Well,  my  dear,  well; 
delighted  that  you  have  fallen  in  love  with  the 
right  man,"  and  the  unmistakable  air  of  relief 
that  had  accompanied  the  words,  had  warmed 
her  heart. 

She  had  been  very  anxious  about  her  father  of 
late.  The  occasional  heart  attacks  to  which  he 
was  subject  had  become  much  more  frequent,  and 
she  knew  that  his  many  embarrassments  and 
perplexities  were  weighing  down  his  health.  Well, 
that  anxiety  was  at  least  lightened.  She  would  be 
able  to  help  in  smoothing  away  his  difficulties. 
Surely  the  man  of  millions  would  place  her  in  a 
position  to  do  so!  He  had  almost  undertaken  to 
do  so. 

The  glad  thought  nerved  her  to  face  the  future 
she  had  chosen.  She  was  even  very  faintly 
conscious  of  a  mitigation  of  her  antipathy  for  the 
man  who  had  made  himself  her  master.  Besides, 
even  though  married  to  him,  she  surely  need  not 
see  much  of  him.  She  knew  that  he  spent  the 
whole  of  his  day  in  the  City.  She  would  still  be 
free  to  spend  hers  as  she  listed. 

And  so,  when  she  saw  him  that  evening,  when 
his  momentous  interview  with  her  father  was  over, 
she  was  moved  to  graciousness  for  the  first  time. 
A  passing  glimpse  of  her  father's  face  assured  her 
that  all  had  gone  well,  aye,  more  than  well. 

As  for  Wingarde,  he  waived  the  money  question 
altogether  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  his 
fiancee. 


The  Deliverer  109 

"Your  father  will  tell  you  what  provision  I  am 
prepared  to  make  for  you,"  he  coldly  said.  "He 
is  fully  satisfied — on  your  behalf." 

She  felt  the  sting  of  the  last  words,  and  flushed 
furiously.  But  she  found  no  word  of  indignation 
to  utter,  though  in  a  moment  her  graciousness  was 
a  thing  of  the  past. 

"I  have  not  deceived  you,"  she  said,  speaking 
with  an  effort. 

He  gave  her  a  keen  look. 

"I  don't  think  you  could,"  he  rejoined  quietly. 
"And  I  certainly  shouldn't  advise  you  to  try." 

And  then  to  her  utter  surprise  and  consternation 
he  took  her  shoulders  between  his  hands. 

"May  I  kiss  you?"  he  asked. 

There  was  not  a  shade  of  emotion  to  be  detected 
in  either  face  or  voice  as  he  made  the  request.  Yet 
Nina  drew  back  from  him  with  a  shudder  that  she 
scarcely  attempted  to  disguise. 

' '  No ! ' '  she  said  vehemently. 

He  set  her  free  instantly,  and  she  thought  he 
smiled.  But  the  look  in  his  eyes  frightened  her. 
She  felt  the  mastery  that  would  not  compel. 

"One  more  thing,"  he  said,  calmly  passing  on. 
"It  is  usual  for  a  girl  in  your  position  to  wear  an 
engagement  ring.  I  should  like  you  to  wear  this 
in  my  honour." 

He  held  out  to  her  on  the  palm  of  his  hand  a 
little,  old-fashioned  ring  set  with  rubies  and  pearls. 
Nina  glanced  at  him  in  momentary  surprise.  It 
was  not  in  the  least  what  she  would  have  expected 


i  io  Rosa  Mundi 

as  the  rich  man's  first  gift.  Involuntarily  she 
hesitated.  She  felt  that  he  had  offered  her  some 
thing  more  than  mere  precious  stones  set  in 
gold. 

He  waited  for  her  to  take  the  ring  in  absolute 
silence. 

"Mr.  Wingarde,"  she  said  nervously,  "I — I  am 
afraid  it  is  something  you  value." 

"It  is,"  he  said.  "It  belonged  to  my  mother. 
In  fact,  it  was  her  engagement  ring.  But  why 
should  you  be  afraid?" 

For  the  first  time  there  was  a  note  of  softness 
in  his  voice. 

Nina's  face  was  burning. 

"I  would  rather  have  something  you  do  not  care 
about,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone. 

Instantly  his  face  grew  hard. 

"Give  me  your  hand!"  he  said  shortly.  "The 
left,  please!" 

She  gave  it,  the  flush  dying  swiftly  from  her 
cheeks.  She  could  not  control  its  trembling  as 
he  deliberately  fitted  the  ring  on  to  the  third 
finger. 

"Understand,"  he  said,  "that  I  wish  this  ring 
and  no  other  to  be  the  token  of  your  engagement 
to  me.  If  you  object  to  it,  I  am  sorry.  But, 
after  all,  it  will  only  be  in  keeping  with  the  rest. 
I  must  go  now  as  I  have  an  appointment  to  keep. 
Your  father  has  asked  me  to  lunch  on  Sunday  and 
I  have  accepted.  I  hope  you  will  pay  me  the 
compliment  of  being  at  home." 


The  Deliverer  m 

III 

THE  HONEYMOON 

THE  first  of  June  fell  on  a  Saturday  that  year, 
and  a  good  many  people  remained  in  town  for  it  in 
order  to  be  present  at  the  wedding  of  Lord  March- 
mont's  only  daughter  to  Hereford  Wingarde,  the 
millionaire. 

Comments  upon  Nina's  choice  had  even  yet 
scarcely  died  out,  and  Archie  Neville,  her  faithful 
friend  and  admirer,  was  still  wondering  why  he  and 
his  very  comfortable  income  had  been  passed  over 
for  this  infernal  bounder  whom  no  one  knew.  He 
had  proposed  to  Nina  twice,  and  on  each  occasion 
her  refusal  had  seemed  to  him  to  be  tinged  with 
regret.  To  use  his  own  expression,  he  was 
"awfully  cut  up"  by  the  direction  affairs  had 
taken.  But,  philosophically  determined  to  make 
the  best  of  it,  he  attended  the  wedding  with  a 
smiling  face,  and  even  had  the  audacity  to  kiss  the 
bride — a  privilege  that  had  not  been  his  since 
childhood. 

Hereford  Wingarde,  standing  by  his  wife's  side, 
the  recipient  of  congratulations  from  crowds  of 
people  who  seemed  to  be  her  intimate  friends,  but 
whom  he  had  never  seen  before,  noted  that  salute 
of  Archie  Neville's  with  a  very  slight  lift  of  his 
black  brows.  He  noted  also  that  Nina  returned 
it,  and  that  her  hand  lingered  in  that  of  the  young 
man  longer  than  in  those  of  any  of  her  other 


ii2  Rosa  Mundi 

friends.  It  was  a  small  circumstance,  but  it  stuck 
in  his  memory. 

A  house  had  been  lent  them  for  the  honeymoon 
by  one  of  Nina's  wealthy  friends  in  the  Lake  Dis 
trict.  They  arrived  there  hard  upon  midnight, 
having  dined  on  board  the  train. 

A  light  meal  awaited  them,  to  which  they  imme 
diately  sat  down. 

' '  You  are  tired, ' '  Wingarde  said,  as  the  lamplight 
fell  upon  his  bride's  flushed  face  and  bright  eyes. 
'  His  own  eyes  were  critical.  She  laughed  and 
turned  aside  from  them. 

"I  am  not  at  all  tired,"  she  said.  "I  am  only 
sorry  the  journey  is  over.  I  miss  the  noise." 

He  made  no  further  comment.  He  had  a  dis 
concerting  habit  of  dropping  into  sudden  silences. 
It  took  possession  of  him  now,  and  they  finished 
their  refreshment  with  scarcely  a  word. 

Then  Nina  rose,  holding  her  head  very  high. 
He  embarrassed  her,  and  she  strongly  resented 
being  embarrassed. 

Wingarde  at  once  rose  also.  He  looked  more 
massive  than  usual,  almost  as  if  braced  for  a  par 
ticular  effort. 

' '  Going  already  ? "  he  said.     ' '  Good-night ! ' ' 

"Good-night!"  said  Nina. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  momentary  indecision. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  kept  it. 

1 '  I  think  you  will  have  to  kiss  me  on  our  wedding 
night,"  he  said. 


The  Deliverer  113 

She  turned  very  white.  The  hunted  look  had 
returned  to  her  eyes.  She  answered  him  with  the 
rapidity  of  desperation. 

"You  can  do  as  you  like  with  me  now,"  she  said. 
"I  am  not  able  to  prevent  you." 

"You  mean  you  would  rather  not?"  he  said, 
without  the  smallest  hint  of  anger  or  disappoint 
ment  in  his  tone. 

She  started  a  little  at  the  question.  There  was 
no  escaping  the  searching  of  his  eyes. 

"Of  course  I  would  rather  not,"  she  said. 

He  released  her  quivering  hand  and  walked 
quietly  to  the  door. 

"Good-night,  Nina!"  he  said,  as  he  opened  it. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  before  she  realized  that 
he  had  yielded  to  her  wish.  Then,  as  he  waited, 
she  made  a  sudden  impulsive  movement  towards 
him. 

Her  fingers  rested  for  an  instant  on  his  arm. 

' '  Good-night — Hereford ! ' '  she  said. 

He  looked  down  at  her  hand,  not  offering  to 
touch  it.  His  lips  relaxed  cynically. 

"Don't  overwhelm  me!"  he  said. 

And  in  a  flash  she  had  passed  him  with  blazing 
eyes  and  a  heart  that  was  full  of  fierce  anger.  So 
this  was  his  reception  of  her  first  overture!  Her 
cheeks  burnt  as  she  vowed  to  herself  that  she 
would  attempt  no  more. 

She  did  not  see  her  husband  again  that  night. 

When  they  met  in  the  morning,  he  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  that  they  had  parted  in  a  somewhat 


ii4  Rosa  Mundi 

strained  atmosphere.  The  only  peculiarity  about 
his  greeting  was  that  it  did  not  seem  to  occur  to 
him  to  shake  hands. 

"There  is  plenty  to  do  if  you're  feeling  ener 
getic,  ' '  he  said.  ' '  Driving,  riding,  mountaineering, 
boating;  which  shall  it  be?" 

"Have  you  no  preference?"  she  asked,  as  she 
faced  him  over  the  coffee-urn. 

He  smiled  slightly. 

"Yes,  I  have,"  he  said.  "But  let  me  hear 
yours  first!" 

"Driving,"  she  said  at  once.  "And  now 
yours?" 

"Mine  was  none  of  these  things,"  he  answered. 
"I  wonder  what  sort  of  conveyance  they  can 
provide  us  with?  Also  what  manner  of  horse? 
Are  you  going  to  drive  or  am  I?  Mind,  you  are 
to  state  your  preference." 

"Very  well,"  she  answered.  "Then  I'll  drive, 
please.  I  know  this  country  a  little.  I  stayed 
near  here  three  years  ago  with  the  Nevilles. 
Archie  and  I  used  to  fish." 

"Did  you  ever  catch  anything?"  Wingarde 
asked,  with  his  quiet  eyes  on  her  face. 

"Of  course  we  did,"  she  answered.  "Salmon 
trout — beauties.  Oh,  and  other  things.  I  forget 
what  they  were  called.  We  had  great  fun,  I 
remember." 

Her  face  flushed  at  the  remembrance.  Archie 
had  been  very  romantic  in  those  days,  quite 
foolishly  so.  But  somehow  she  had  enjoyed  it. 


The  Deliverer  115 

Wingarde  said  no  more.  He  rose  directly  the 
meal  was  over.  It  was  a  perfect  summer  morn 
ing.  The  view  from  the  windows  was  exquisite. 
Beyond  the  green  stretches  of  the  park  rose  peak 
after  peak  of  sunlit  mountains.  There  were  a  few 
cloud-shadows  floating  here  and  there.  In  one 
place,  gleaming  like  a  thread  of  silver,  he  could  see 
a  waterfall  tumbling  down  a  barren  hillside. 

Suddenly,  through  the  summer  silence,  an 
octave  of  bells  pealed  joyously. 

Nina  started 

"Why,  it's  Sunday!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  had 
quite  forgotten.  We  ought  to  go  to  church." 

Wingarde  turned  round . 

"What  an  inspiration!"  he  said  dryly. 

His  tone  offended  her.     She  drew  herself  up. 

"Are  you  coming?"  she  asked  coldly. 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  same  cynical  smile 
with  which  he  had  received  her  overture  the  night 
before. 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  won't  bore  you  with  my 
company  this  morning." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"As  you  please,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  door. 

He  made  no  rejoinder.  And  as  she  passed  out, 
she  realized  that  he  believed  she  had  suggested 
going  to  church  in  order  to  escape  an  hour  of  his 
hated  society.  It  was  but  a  slight  injustice  and 
certainly  not  wholly  unprovoked  by  her.  But, 
curiously,  she  resented  it  very  strongly.  She 
almost  felt  as  if  he  had  insulted  her. 


n6  Rosa  Mundi 

She  found  him  smoking  in  the  garden  when 
she  returned  from  her  solitary  expedition,  and  she 
hoped  savagely  that  he  had  found  his  own  society 
as  distasteful  as  she  did ;  though  on  second  thoughts 
this  seemed  scarcely  possible. 

She  decided  regretfully,  yet  with  an  inner  sense 
of  expediency,  that  she  would  spend  the  afternoon 
in  his  company.  But  her  husband  had  other 
plans. 

"You  have  had  a  hot  walk,"  he  said.  "You 
had  better  rest  this  afternoon.  I  am  going  to  do  a 
little  mountaineering;  but  I  mean  to  be  back  by 
tea-time.  Perhaps  when  it  is  cool  you  will  come 
for  a  stroll,  unless  you  have  arranged  to  attend  the 
evening  service  also." 

He  glanced  at  her  and  saw  the  indignant  colour 
iise  in  her  face.  But  she  was  too  proud  to  protest. 

"As  you  wish,"  she  said  coldly. 

Conversation  during  lunch  was  distinctly 
laboured.  Wingarde's  silences  were  many  and 
oppressive.  It  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  the 
girl  when  at  length  he  took  himself  off.  She  told 
herself  with  a  wry  smile  that  he  was  getting  on  her 
nerves.  She  did  not  yet  own  that  he  frightened  her. 

The  afternoon's  rest  did  her  good;  and  when  he 
returned  she  was  ready  for  him. 

He  looked  at  her,  as  she  sat  in  the  garden  before 
the  tea-table  in  her  muslin  dress  and  big  straw 
hat,  with  a  shade  of  approval  in  his  eyes. 

He  threw  himself  down  into  a  chair  beside  her 
without  speaking. 


The  Deliverer  117 

"Have  you  been  far?"  she  asked. 

' '  To  the  top  of  the  hill, ' '  he  answered.  ' '  I  had  a 
splendid  view  of  the  sea." 

"It  must  have  been  perfect,"  she  said. 

"You  have  been  there?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  answered,  "long  ago;  with 
Archie." 

Wingarde  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her 
attentively.  She  tried  to  appear  unconscious  of 
his  scrutiny,  and  failed  signally.  Before  she  could 
control  it,  the  blood  had  rushed  to  her  face. 

"And  you  found  it  worth  doing?"  he  asked. 

The  question  seemed  to  call  for  no  reply,  and  she 
made  none. 

But  yet  again  she  felt  as  if  he  had  insulted  her. 

She  was  still  burning  with  silent  resentment 
when  they  started  on  their  walk.  He  strolled 
beside  her,  cool  and  unperturbed.  If  he  guessed 
her  mood,  he  made  no  sign. 

' '  Where  are  you  taking  me  ? "  he  asked  presently. 

"It  is  the  road  to  the  wishing-gate,"  she  replied 
icily.  ' '  There  is  a  good  view  of  the  lake  farther  on. " 

He  made  no  further  enquiry,  and  they  walked  on 
in  dead  silence  through  exquisite  scenery. 

They  reached  the  wishing-gate,  and  the  girl 
stopped  almost  involuntarily. 

"Is  this  the  fateful  spot?"  said  Wingarde,  com 
ing  suddenly  out  of  his  reverie.  "What  is  the 
usual  thing  to  do?  Cut  our  names  on  the  gate 
post?  Rather  a  low-down  game,  I  always  think." 

She  uttered  a  sudden,  breathless  laugh. 


n8  Rosa  Mundi 

"My  name  is  here  already,"  she  said,  pointing 
with  a  finger  that  shook  slightly  at  some  minute 
characters  cut  into  the  second  bar  of  the  gate. 

He  bent  and  looked  at  the  inscription — two 
names  cut  with  infinite  care,  two  minute  hearts 
intertwined  beneath. 

Nina  watched  him  with  a  scornful  little  smile 
on  her  lips. 

"Artistic,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

He  straightened  himself  abruptly,  and  their  eyes 
met.  There  was  a  curious  glint  in  his  that  she 
had  never  seen  before.  She  put  her  hand  sharply 
to  her  throat.  Quite  suddenly  she  knew  that  she 
was  afraid  of  this  monster  to  whom  she  had  given 
herself — horribly,  unreasonably  afraid. 

But  he  did  not  speak,  and  her  scare  began  to 
subside. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  wish,"  she  said  mounting 
the  lowest  bar  of  the  gate. 

He  spoke  then,  abruptly,  cynically. 

"Really,"  he  said,  "what  can  you  have  to  wish 
for  now?" 

She  looked  back  at  him  defiantly.  Her  eyes 
were  on  a  level  with  his.  Because  he  had  fright 
ened  her,  she  went  the  more  recklessly.  It  would 
never  answer  to  let  him  suspect  this  power  of  his. 

"Something  that  I'm  afraid  you  will  never  give 
me,"  she  said,  a  bitter  ring  in  her  voice. 

"What?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Among  other  things,  happiness,"  she  said. 
"You  can  never  give  me  that." 


The  Deliverer  119 

She  saw  him  bite  his  lip,  but  he  controlled  him 
self  to  speak  quietly. 

"Surely  you  make  a  mistake,"  he  said,  "to  wish 
for  something  which,  since  you  are  my  wife,  can 
never  be  yours!" 

She  laughed,  still  standing  on  the  gate,  and  tell 
ing  herself  that  she  felt  no  fear. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  "I  will  wish  for  a 
Deliverer  first." 

"For  what?" 

His  naked  fist  banged  down  upon  the  gate-post, 
and  she  saw  the  blood  start  instantly  and  begin  to 
flow.  She  knew  in  that  moment  that  she  had  gone 
too  far. 

Her  fear  returned  in  an  overwhelming  flood. 
She  stumbled  off  the  gate  and  faced  him,  white  to 
the  lips. 

A  terrible  pause  followed,  in  which  she  knew  her 
self  to  be  fighting  him  with  every  inch  of  her 
strength.  Then  suddenly,  without  apparent  rea 
son,  she  gave  in. 

"I  was  joking,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I 
spoke  in  jest." 

He  made  her  a  curt  bow,  his  face  inflexibly  stern. 

"It is  good  of  you  to  explain,"  he  said.  "With 
my  limited  knowledge  of  your  character  and 
motives,  I  am  apt  to  make  mistakes." 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly  with  the  words, 
and,  shaking  the  blood  from  his  hand,  bound  the 
wound  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Shall  we  go  on?"  he  said  then. 


120  Rosa  Mundi 

And  Nina  accompanied  him,  ashamed  and 
afraid.  She  felt  as  if  at  the  last  moment  she  had 
asked  for  quarter;  and,  contemptuously,  because 
she  was  a  woman,  he  had  given  it. 

IV 

A  GREVIOUS  WOUND 

AFTER  that  moment  of  madness  by  the  wishing- 
gate  Nina's  wanton  desire  to  provoke  to  wrath  the 
monster  to  whom  she  was  chained  died  a  sudden 
and  unnatural  death.  She  was  scrupulously  care 
ful  of  his  feelings  from  that  day  forward,  and  he 
treated  her  with  a  freezing  courtesy,  a  cynical  con 
sideration,  that  seemed  to  form  a  barrier  behind 
which  the  actual  man  concealed  himself  and 
watched. 

That  he  did  watch  her  was  a  fact  of  which  she 
was  miserably  conscious.  She  knew  with  the 
certain  knowledge  of  intuition  that  he  studied 
her  continually.  She  was  perpetually  under  the 
microscope  of  his  criticism,  and  there  were  times 
when  she  told  herself  she  could  not  bear  it.  He  was 
too  much  for  her;  too  pitiless  a  tyrant,  too  stern 
a  master.  Her  life  was  becoming  insupportable. 

A  fortnight  of  their  honeymoon  had  passed 
away,  when  one  morning  Wingarde  looked  up  with 
a  frown  from  a  letter. 

"I  have  had  a  summons  to  town,"  he  said 
abruptly. 


The  Deliverer  121 

Nina's  heart  leapt  at  the  words,  and  her  relief 
showed  itself  for  one  unmanageable  second  in  her 
face. 

He  saw  it,  and  she  knew  he  saw  it. 

' '  I  shall  be  sorry, ' '  he  said,  with  cutting  sarcasm, 
"to  curtail  your  enjoyment  here,  but  the  necessity 
for  my  presence  is  imperative.  I  should  like  to 
catch  the  two-thirty  this  afternoon  if  you  can  be 
ready  by  then." 

Nina's  face  was  burning.  She  held  herself  very 
erect. 

"I  can  be  ready  before  then  if  you  wish,"  she 
said  stiffly. 

He  rose  from  the  breakfast- table  with  a  curt 
laugh.  As  he  passed  her  he  flicked  her  cheek  with 
the  envelope  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"You  are  a  dutiful  wife,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

She  winced  sharply,  and  bent  her  head  over  her 
own  letters. 

"I  do  my  best,"  she  said,  after  a  moment. 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  responded  dryly. 

He  paused  at  the  door  as  if  he  expected  her 
to  say  more.  More  came,  somewhat  breathlessly, 
and  not  upon  the  same  subject. 

Nina  glanced  up  with  sudden  resolution. 

"Hereford,"  she  said,  "can  you  let  me  have 
some  money?" 

She  spoke  with  the  rapidity  of  nervousness. 
She  saw  his  hand  leave  the  door.  His  face 
remained  quite  unmoved. 

"For  yourself?"  he  asked. 


122  Rosa  Mundi 

Considering  the  amount  of  the  settlement  he  had 
made  upon  her,  the  question  was  absurd.  Nina 
smiled  faintly. 

"No,"  she  said,  "not  for  myself." 

He  took  a  cheque-book  from  his  pocket  and 
walked  to  a  writing-table. 

"How  much  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

She  hesitated,  and  he  looked  round  at  her. 

' '  I — I  only  want  to  borrow  it, ' '  she  said  haltingly. 
"It  is  rather  a  big  sum." 

"How  much?"  he  repeated. 

"Five  thousand  pounds,"  she  answered,  in  a 
low  voice. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her  for  several  seconds. 
Finally  he  turned  and  shut  up  his  cheque-book 
with  a  snap. 

"The  money  will  be  placed  to  your  credit 
to-morrow,"  he  said.  "But  though  a  financier,  I 
am  not  a  money-lender.  Please  understand  that ! 
And  let  your  family  understand  it,  too." 

And,  rising,  he  walked  straight  from  the  room. 

No  further  reference  was  made  to  the  matter  on 
either  side.  Nina's  pride  or  her  courage  shrank 
from  any  expression  of  gratitude. 

In  the  afternoon  with  intense  thankfulness  she 
travelled  southward.  Never  were  London  smoke 
and  dust  more  welcome. 

They  went  straight  to  Wingarde's  great  house  in 
Crofton  Square.  Dinner  was  served  immediately 
upon  their  arrival. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  excuse  me,"  Wingarde  said, 


The  Deliverer  123 

directly  dessert  was  placed  upon  the  table.  "I 
have  to  go  out — on  business.  In  case  I  don't  see 
you  again,  good-night!" 

He  was  on  his  feet  as  he  spoke.  In  her  surprise 
Nina  started  up  also. 

"At  this  hour!"  she  exclaimed.  "Why,  it  is 
nearly  eleven!" 

"At  this  hour,"  he  grimly  responded,  "you  will 
be  able  to  dispense  with  my  society  no  doubt." 

His  tone  silenced  her.  Yet,  as  he  turned  to  go, 
she  looked  after  him  with  mute  questioning  in  her 
eyes.  She  had  a  feeling  that  he  was  keeping  some 
thing  from  her,  and — perhaps  it  was  merely  the 
natural  result  of  womanly  curiosity  baffled — she 
was  vaguely  hurt  that  he  did  not  see  fit  to  tell  her 
whither  his  business  was  taking  him. 

A  few  words  would  have  sufficed ;  but  he  had  not 
chosen  to  utter  them,  and  her  pride  wras  sufficient 
to  suppress  any  display  of  interest  in  his  affairs. 
She  would  not  court  the  snub  that  she  felt  con 
vinced  he  would  not  hesitate  to  administer. 

So  he  left  her  without  explanation,  and  Nina 
went  drearily  to  bed.  On  the  following  morning, 
however,  the  sun  shone  upon  her,  and  she  went 
downstairs  in  better  spirits. 

The  first  person  she  encountered  was  her  hus 
band.  He  was  sauntering  about  the  morning-room 
in  his  overcoat,  a  cup  of  strong  tea  in  his  hand. 

He  greeted  her  perfunctorily,  as  his  fashion  was. 

"Oh,  good-morning!"  he  said.  "I  have  only 
just  got  back.  I  was  detained  unavoidably.  I 


124  Rosa  Mundi 

am  going  upstairs  for  an  hour's  rest,  and  then  I 
shall  be  off  to  the  City.  I  don't  know  if  you  would 
care  to  drive  in  with  me.  I  shall  use  the  car,  but 
it  will  then  be  at  your  service  for  the  rest  of  the 
day." 

"Have  you  been  working  all  night?"  Nina 
asked  incredulously. 

He  nodded. 

"It  was  unavoidable,"  he  said  again,  with  a 
touch  of  impatience.  "You  had  better  have  a 
second  brew  of  tea,  this  is  too  strong  for  you." 

He  set  down  his  cup  and  rang  the  bell. 

Nina  stood  and  looked  at  him.  He  certainly  did 
not  look  like  a  man  who  had  been  up  all  night. 
Alert,  active,  tough  as  wire,  he  walked  back  to  the 
table  and  gathered  together  his  letters.  A  faint 
feeling  of  admiration  stirred  in  her  heart.  His 
strength  appealed  to  her  for  the  first  time. 

"I  should  like  to  drive  into  the  City  with  you," 
she  said,  after  a  pause. 

He  gave  her  a  sharp  glance. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  wanting  to  go  to  the 
bank,"  he  remarked  coolly. 

She  flushed  and  turned  her  back  upon  him.  It  was 
an  unprovoked  assault,  and  she  resented  it  fiercely. 

When  they  met  again  an  hour  later  she  was  on 
the  defensive,  ready  to  resist  his  keenest  thrust, 
and,  seeing  it,  he  laughed  cynically. 

"Armed  to  the  teeth?"  he  asked,  with  a  careless 
glance  at  her  slim  figure  and  delicate  face. 

She  did  not  answer  him  by  so  much  as  a  look. 


The  Deliverer  125 

He  handed  her  into  the  car  and  took  his  seat 
beside  her. 

' '  Can  you  manage  to  dine  out  with  some  of  your 
people  to-night?"  he  asked.  "I  am  afraid  I  shall 
not  be  home  till  late." 

"You  seem  to  have  a  great  deal  on  your  hands," 
she  remarked  coldly. 

"Yes,"  said  Wingarde. 

It  was  quite  obvious  that  he  had  no  intention  of 
taking  her  into  his  confidence,  and  Nina  was  stub 
bornly  determined  to  betray  no  interest.  Then 
and  there  she  resolved  that  since  he  chose  to  give 
himself  up  entirely  to  the  amassing  of  wealth,  not 
hesitating  to  slight  his  wife  in  the  process,  she  also 
would  live  her  separate  life  wholly  independent  of 
his  movements. 

She  pretended  to  herself  that  she  would  make 
the  most  of  it.  But  deep  in  her  heart  she 
hated  him  for  thus  setting  her  aside.  His  action 
pierced  straight  through  her  pride  to  something 
that  sheltered  behind  it,  and  inflicted  a  grevious 
wound. 

V 

A  STRUGGLE  FOR  MASTERY 

"JovE!  Here's  a  crush!"  laughed  Archie 
Neville.  "Delighted  to  meet  you  again,  Mrs. 
Wingarde!  How  did  you  find  the  Lakes?" 

His  good-looking,  boyish  face  was  full  of  pleasure. 


126  Rosa  Mundi 

He  had  not  expected  to  meet  her.  Nina's  welcom 
ing  smile  was  radiant. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  Archie!"  she  exclaimed,  as 
they  shook  hands.  "Someone  said  you  were  out 
of  town,  but  I  couldn't  believe  anything  so  tragic." 

' '  Quite  right, ' '  said  Archie.  ' '  Never  believe  the 
worst  till  there  is  positively  no  alternative.  I'm 
not  out  of  town,  and  I'm  not  going  to  be.  It's 
awfully  nice  to  see  you  again,  you  know!  I 
thought  the  sun  had  set  for  the  rest  of  the  season. " 

Nina  uttered  a  gay  little  laugh. 

"Oh,  dear,  no!  We  certainly  intended  to  stay 
longer,  but  Hereford  was  summoned  back  on  busi 
ness,  and  I  really  wasn't  sorry  on  the  whole.  I  did 
rather  regret  missing  all  the  fun." 

Archie  laughed. 

"Hereford  must  be  doing  dark  deeds  then,"  he 
said,  "of  which  he  keeps  the  rest  of  the  world  in 
complete  ignorance.  The  markets  are  dead  flat 
just  now — nothing  doing  whatever.  It's  enough  to 
make  you  tear  your  hair." 

"Really!"  said  Nina.  "He  gave  me  to  under- 
stant  that  it  was  something  urgent." 

And  then  she  became  suddenly  silent,  meeting 
Archie's  eyes,  and  aware  of  the  surprise  he  was  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  to  express.  With  a  cold 
feeling  of  dissatisfaction  she  turned  from  the 
subject. 

"It's  very  nice  to  be  back  again  among  my 
friends,"  she  said.  "Can't  you  come  and  dine 
to-morrow  and  go  to  the  theatre  afterwards  ? ' 


The  Deliverer  127 

Archie  considered  a  moment,  and  she  knew  that 
when  he  answered  he  was  cancelling  other  engage 
ments. 

"Thanks,  I  shall  be  delighted!"  he  said,  "if  I 
shan't  be  de  trop." 

There  was  a  touch  of  mockery  in  Nina's  smile. 

"We  shall  probably  be  alone,"  she  said.  "My 
husband's  business  keeps  him  late  in  the  City. 
We  have  been  home  a  week,  and  he  has  only 
managed  to  dine  with  me  once." 

"Isn't  he  here  to-night?"  asked  Archie. 

She  shook  her  head. 

' '  What  an  infernal  shame ! "  he  exclaimed  impul 
sively.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!  That  was  a  slip." 

But  Nina  laid  her  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

"You  needn't  apologize,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "One  can't  have  everything.  If  you 
marry — an  outsider — for  his  money,  you  have  to 
pay  the  penalty." 

Archie  looked  at  her  with  further  indiscretion 
upon  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  But  he  thought  twice 
and  kept  it  back. 

"I  say,  you  know,"  he  said  awkwardly,  "I — I'm 
sorry." 

;< Thank  you,"  she  said  gently.  "Well,  you  will 
come  to-morrow?" 

"Of  course,"  he  said.  "What  theatre  shall  we 
go  to?  I'll  bring  the  tickets  with  me." 

The  conversation  drifted  away  into  indifferent 
topics,  and  presently  they  parted.  Nina  wasalmost 
gay  of  heart  as  she  drove  homeward  that  night. 


128  Rosa  Mundi 

She  had  begun  to  feel  her  loneliness  very  keenly, 
and  Archie's  society  promised  to  be  of  value. 

Her  husband  was  waiting  for  her  when  she 
returned.  As  she  entered  her  own  sitting-room, 
he  started  up  abruptly  from  an  arm-chair  as  if  her 
entrance  had  suddenly  roused  him  from  sleep. 
She  was  considerably  surprised  to  see  him  there, 
for  he  had  never  before  intruded  without  her 
permission. 

He  glanced  at  the  clock,  but  made  no  comment 
upon  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 

"I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  yourself,"  he  said 
somewhat  formally. 

The  words  were  as  unexpected  as  was  his  pres 
ence  there.  Nina  stood  for  a  moment,  waiting  for 
something  further. 

Then,  as  he  did  not  speak,  she  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  threw  back  her  cloak. 

"It  was  a  tremendous  crush,"  she  said  indiffer 
ently.  "No,  I  didn't  enjoy  it  particularly.  But 
it  was  something  to  do." 

"I  am  sorry  you  are  feeling  bored,"  he  said 
gravely. 

Nina  sat  down  in  silence.  She  did  not  in  the 
least  understand  what  had  brought  him  there. 

"It  is  getting  rather  late,"  she  remarked,  after  a 
pause.  ' '  I  am  just  going  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  and 
then  go  to  bed." 

A  little  tea-tray  stood  on  the  table  at  her  elbow. 
A  brass  kettle  was  fizzing  cheerily  above  a  spirit 
stove. 


The  Deliverer  129 

' '  Do  you  want  a  cup  ? ' '  she  asked,  with  a  careless 
glance  upwards. 

He  had  remained  standing,  looking  down  at  her 
with  an  expression  that  puzzled  her  slightly.  His 
eyes  were  heavy,  as  if  they  wanted  sleep. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said. 

Nina  threw  off  her  wraps  and  sat  up  to  brew  the 
tea.  The  light  from  a  rose-shaded  lamp  poured 
full  upon  her.  She  looked  superb  and  she  knew  it. 
The  knowledge  deprived  her  for  once  of  that  secret 
sense  of  fear  that  so  brooded  at  the  back  of  her  in 
tercourse  with  this  man.  He  stood  in  total  silence 
behind  her.  She  began  to  wonder  what  was  coming. 

Having  made  tea,  she  leant  back  again  with  her 
hands  behind  her  head. 

"I  suppose  we  must  give  it  two  minutes  to 
draw,"  she  remarked,  with  a  smothered  yawn. 
"Isn't  it  frightfully  hot  to-night?  I  believe  there 
is  thunder  about." 

He  made  no  response,  and  she  turned  her  eyes 
slowly  upon  him.  She  knew  he  was  watching  her, 
but  a  curious  sense  of  independence  possessed  her 
that  night.  He  did  not  disconcert  her. 

Their  eyes  met.  Hers  were  faintly  insolent. 
His  were  inscrutable. 

At  last  he  spoke. 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  not  enjoyed  yourself,"  he 
said,  speaking  rather  stiffly.  "Will  you — by  way 
of  a  change — come  out  with  me  to-morrow  night  ? 
I  think  I  may  anyhow  promise  you" — he  paused 
slightly — "that  you  shall  not  be  bored." 


130  Rosa  Mundi 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Nina  turned  and 
moved  the  cups  on  the  little  tray.  She  did  not, 
however,  seem  embarrassed. 

"I  happen  to  be  engaged  to-morrow  evening," 
she  said  coldly  at  length. 

"Is  it  important?"  he  asked.  "Can't  you 
cancel  the  engagement?" 

She  uttered  a  little,  flippant  laugh.  She  had 
not  hoped  for  such  an  opportunity  as  this. 

"I'm  afraid  I  really  can't,"  she  said.  "You 
should  have  asked  me  earlier." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

There  was  a  new  note  in  his  voice — a  hint  of 
mastery.  She  resented  it  instantly. 

"That  is  my  affair,"  she  said  calmly,  beginning 
to  pour  out  the  tea. 

He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  scarcely  believed  his 
ears.  He  was  silent  for  some  seconds,  and  very 
quietly  she  turned  to  him  and  handed  him  a 
cup. 

He  took  it  from  her  and  instantly  set  it  aside. 

"Be  good  enough  to  answer  my  question!"  he 
said. 

She  heard  the  gathering  sternness  in  his  tone, 
and,  tea-cup  in  hand,  she  laughed.  A  curious 
recklessness  possessed  her  that  night.  She  felt  as 
if  she  had  the  strength  to  fling  off  the  bands  of 
tyranny.  But  her  heart  had  begun  to  beat  very 
fast.  She  realized  that  this  was  no  mere  skirmish. 

"Why  should  I  answer  you? "  she  asked,  helping 
herself  to  some  more  cream  with  a  hand  that  was 


The  Deliverer 


slightly  unsteady  in  spite  of  her  effort  to  control  it. 
"I  do  not  see  the  necessity." 

"I  think  you  do,"  he  rejoined. 

Nina  said  no  more.  She  swallowed  her  tea,  nib 
bled  at  a  wafer  with  a  species  of  deliberate  trifling 
calculated  to  proclaim  aloud  her  utter  fearlessness, 
and  at  length  rose  to  go. 

In  that  moment  her  husband  stepped  forward 
and  took  her  by  the  shoulders. 

"Before  you  leave  this  room,  please,"  he  said 
quietly. 

She  drew  back  from  him  in  a  blaze  of  indignant 
rebellion. 

'  '  I  will  not  !  '  '  she  said.     '  '  Let  me  go  instantly  !  '  ' 

His  hold  tightened.  His  face  was  more  grim 
than  she  had  ever  seen  it.  His  eyes  seemed  to 
beat  hers  down.  Yet  when  he  spoke  he  did  not 
raise  his  voice. 

"I  have  borne  a  good  deal  from  you,  Nina,"  he 
said.  "But  there  is  a  limit  to  every  man's  endur 
ance." 

"You  married  me  against  my  will,"  she  panted. 
'  '  Do  you  think  I  have  not  had  anything  to  endure, 
too?" 

"That  accusation  is  false,"  he  said.  "You  mar 
ried  me  of  your  own  accord.  Without  my  money, 
you  would  have  passed  me  by  with  scorn.  You 
know  it." 

She  began  to  tremble  violently. 

"Do  you  deny  that?"  he  insisted  pitilessly. 

"At  least  you  pressed  me  hard,"  she  said. 


i32  Rosa  Mundi 

"I  did,"  he  replied.  "I  saw  you  meant  to  sell 
yourself.  And  I  did  not  mean  you  to  go  to  any 
scoundrel." 

"So  you  bought  me  for  yourself?"  she  said,  with 
a  wild  laugh. 

' '  I  did. ' '  Wingarde's  voice  trembled  a  little.  ' '  I 
paid  your  price,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  taken  very 
little  for  it.  You  have  offered  me  still  less.  Now, 
Nina,  understand !  This  is  not  going  on  for  ever. 
I  simply  will  not  bear  it.  You  are  my  wife,  sworn 
to  obey  me — and  obey  me  you  shall." 

He  held  her  fast  in  front  of  him.  She  could  feel 
the  nervous  strength  of  his  hands.  It  thrilled  her 
through  and  through.  She  felt  like  a  trapped  ani 
mal  in  his  grasp.  Her  resistance  began  to  waver. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  going  to  conquer  you,"  he  said  grimly. 

"You  won't  do  it  by  violence,"  she  returned 
quickly. 

Her  words  seemed  to  pierce  through  a  weak 
place  in  the  iron  armour  in  which  he  had  clad 
himself.  Abruptly  he  set  her  free. 

The  suddenness  of  his  action  so  surprised  her 
that  she  tottered  a  little.  He  made  a  swift  move 
towards  her;  but  in  a  second  she  had  recovered 
herself,  and  he  drew  back.  She  saw  that  his  face 
was  very  pale. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that?"  he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer  him.  Shaking  from  head 
to  foot,  she  stood  facing  him.  But  words  would 
not  come. 


The  Deliverer  133 

After  a  desperate  moment  the  tension  was 
relaxed.  He  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Well,  I  have  warned  you,"  he  said,  and  strode 
heavily  away. 

The  moment  she  ceased  to  hear  his  footsteps, 
Nina  sank  down  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 

VI 

AN  OFFER  OF  HELP 

ON  the  following  morning  Nina  did  not  descend 
the  stairs  till  she  had  heard  the  car  leave  the  house. 
The  strain  of  the  previous  night's  interview  had 
told  upon  her.  She  felt  that  she  had  not  the 
resolution  to  face  such  another. 

The  heat  was  intense.  She  remembered  with 
regret  that  she  had  promised  to  attend  a  charitable 
bazaar  in  the  City  that  afternoon.  Somehow  she 
could  summon  no  relish  either  for  that  or  the  pro 
spect  of  the  theatre  with  Archie  at  night.  She 
wondered  whither  her  husband  had  proposed  to 
take  her,  half  wishing  she  had  yielded  a  point  to  go. 

She  went  to  the  bazaar,  fully  prepared  to  be 
bored.  The  first  person  she  saw,  however,  was 
Archie,  and  at  once  the  atmosphere  seemed  to 
lighten. 

He  attached  himself  to  her  without  a  moment's 
delay. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  "send  your  car  back!  I'll 
take  you  home.  I've  got  my  hansom  here.  It's 


i34  Rosa  Mundi 

much  more  exciting  than  a  motor.  We'll  go  and 
have  tea  somewhere  presently." 

Nina  hesitated  for  barely  a  second,  then  did  as 
he  required. 

Archie's  eyes  were  frankly  tender.  But,  after 
all,  why  not?  They  had  known  each  other  all 
their  lives.  She  laughed  at  the  momentary  scruple 
as  they  strolled  through  the  bazaar  together. 

Archie  bought  her  an  immense  fan — "to  keep  off 
the  flies,"  as  he  elegantly  expressed  it;  and  she 
made  a  few  purchases  herself  as  in  duty  bound, 
and  conversed  with  several  acquaintances. 

Then,  her  companion  becoming  importunate  for 
departure,  she  declined  tea  in  the  hall  and  went 
away  with  him. 

Archie  was  enjoying  himself  hugely. 

"Now,  where  would  you  like  to  go  for  tea? "  he 
asked  as  they  drove  away. 

"I  don't  care  in  the  least,"  she  said,  "only 
I'm  nearly  dead.  Let  it  be  somewhere  close  at 
hand." 

Archie  promptly  decided  in  favour  of  a  tea-shop 
in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 

"I  suppose  you  have  read  the  morning  papers?" 
he  said,  as  they  sat  down.  "I  thought  your  hus 
band  had  something  up  his  sleeve." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  queried  Nina  quickly. 
"No,  I  know  nothing." 

Archie  laughed. 

"Don't  you  really?  Well,  he  has  made  a  few 
thousands  sit  up,  I  can  tell  you.  You've  heard  of 


The  Deliverer  135 

the  Crawley  gold  fields?  Heaven  knows  where 
they  are,  but  that  doesn't  matter — somewhere  in 
Australia  of  course.  No  one  knew  anything  about 
them  till  recently.  Well,  they  were  boomed 
tremendously  a  little  while  ago.  Your  husband 
was  the  prime  mover.  He  went  in  for  them  largely. 
Everyone  went  for  them.  They  held  for  a  bit, 
then  your  husband  began  to  sell  as  fast  as  he  could. 
And  then,  of  course,  the  shares  went  down  to  zero. 
People  waited  a  bit,  then  sold — for  what  they  could 
get.  No  one  knew  who  did  the  buying  till  yester 
day.  My  dear  Nina,  your  husband  has  bought 
the  lot.  He  has  got  the  whole  concern  into  his 
hands  for  next  to  nothing.  The  gold  fields  have 
turned  up  trumps.  They  stand  three  times  as 
high  as  they  ever  did  before.  He  was  behind  the 
scenes.  He  merely  sold  to  create  a  slump.  If  he 
chose  to  sell  again  he  could  command  almost  any 
price  he  cared  to  ask.  Well,  one  man's  loss  is  an 
other  man's  gain.  But  he's  as  rich  as  Croesus. 
They  say  there  are  a  good  many  who  would  like 
to  be  at  his  throat." 

Nina  listened  with  disgust  undisguised  on  her 
face. 

"How  I  loathe  money!"  she  said  abruptly. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  protested  Archie.  "You're  not 
such  an  extremist  as  that.  Think  of  the  host  of 
good  things  that  can't  be  done  without  it." 

"What  good  things  does  he  do?"  she  demanded 
contemptuously.  "He  simply  lives  to  heap  up 
wealth." 


136  Rosa  Mundi 

"You  can't  say  for  certain  that  he  doesn't  do  a 
few  decent  things  when  no  one's  looking,"  sug 
gested  Archie,  who  liked  to  be  fair,  even  to  those  for 
whom  he  felt  no  liking.  "People — rich  men  like 
that — do,  you  know.  Why,  only  last  night  I 
heard  of  a  man — he's  a  West  End  physician — who 
runs  a  sort  of  private  hospital  somewhere  in  the 
back  slums,  and  actually  goes  and  practises  there 
when  his  consulting  hours  are  over.  Pure  phil 
anthropy  that,  you  know.  And  no  one  but  the 
slummers  any  the  wiser.  They  say  he's  simply 
adored  among  them.  They  go  to  him  in  all  their 
troubles,  physical  or  otherwise.  That's  only  an 
instance.  I  don't  say  your  husband  does  that 
sort  of  thing.  But  he  may." 

Nina  uttered  her  bitter  little  laugh. 

"You  always  were  romantic,  Archie,"  she  said. 
"But  I'm  afraid  I'm  past  the  romantic  age.  Any 
how  I'm  an  unbeliever." 

Archie  gave  her  a  keen  look. 

"I  say —  "  he  said,  and  stopped. 

"  Well? "  Nina  looked  back  at  him  questioningly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  colouring  boy 
ishly.  "You  won't  like  what  I  was  going  to  say. 
I  think  I  won't  say  it." 

"You  needn't  consider  my  feelings,"  she 
returned,  "I  assure  you  I  am  not  used  to  it." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said.  "I  was  going  to  say 
that  you  talk  as  if  he  were  a  beast  to  you.  Is 
he?" 

Nina  raised  her  dark  eyebrows  and  did  not 


The  Deliverer  137 

instantly  reply.  Archie  looked  away  from  her. 
He  felt  uncomfortably  that  he  had  gone  too  far. 

Then  slowly  she  made  answer: 

"No,  he  is  not.  I  think  he  has  begun  to  realize 
that  the  battle  is  not  always  to  the  strong." 

Struck  by  something  in  her  tone,  Archie  glanced 
at  her  again . 

"Jove!"  he  suddenly  said.  "How  you  hate 
him!" 

The  words  were  out  almost  before  he  knew  it. 
Nina's  face  changed  instantly.  But  Archie's 
contrition  was  as  swift. 

"Oh,  I  say,  forgive  me!"  he  broke  in,  with  a 
persuasive  hand  on  her  arm.  "Do,  if  you  can! 
I  know  it  was  unpardonable  of  me.  I'm  so  awfully 
sorry.  You  see,  I 

She  interrupted  hastily. 

"It  doesn't  matter — it  doesn't  matter.  I  un 
derstand.  It  was  quite  an  excusable  mistake. 
Please  don't  look  so  distressed!  It  hasn't  hurt 
me  much.  I  think  it  would  have  hurt  me  more 
if  it  had  been  literally  true." 

The  sentences  ran  out  rapidly.  She  was  as 
agitated  as  he.  They  had  the  little  recess  to 
themselves,  and  their  voices  scarcely  rose  above 
a  whisper. 

"Then  it  wasn't  true?"  Archie  said,  with  a  look 
of  relief. 

Nina  drew  back.  She  was  not  prepared  to  go 
as  far  as  that.  All  her  life  she  had  sought  to  be 
honest  in  her  dealings. 


138  Rosa  Mundi 

"It  hasn't  come  actually  to  that  yet,"  she  said 
under  her  breath.  "But  it  may — it  may." 

Somehow  it  relieved  the  burden  that  pressed 
upon  her  to  be  able  to  speak  thus  openly  to  her 
life-long  comrade.  But  Archie  looked  grieved, 
almost  shocked. 

"What  will  you  do  if  it  does?"  he  asked. 

"I  shall  leave  him,"  she  said,  her  face  growing 
hard.  "I  think  he  understands  that." 

There  was  a  heavy  silence  between  them.  Then 
impulsively,  with  pure  generosity,  Archie  spoke. 

"Nina,"  he  said,  "if  you  should  need — help — of 
any  sort,  you  know — will  you  count  on  me?" 

Nina  hesitated  for  a  moment. 

' '  Please ! ' '  said  Archie  gently. 

She  bent  her  head. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said.     "I  will." 

VII 

THE  DELIVERER 

HALF-AN-HOUR  later  they  went  out  again  into 
the  blazing  sunshine. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  hack?"  Archie 
asked,  as  they  drove  away  westwards.  ' '  I  got  him 
at  Tattersall's  the  other  day.  I  haven't  driven 
him  before  to-day.  He's  a  bit  jumpy.  But  I 
like  an  animal  that  can  jump,  don't  you  know." 

"I  know  you  do,"  laughed  Nina.  "I  believe 
that  is  purely  why  you  haven't  started  a  motor 


The  Deliverer  139 

yet.  They  can  do  everything  that  is  vicious  and 
extraordinary  except  jump.  But  do  you  really 
like  a  horse  to  shy  at  everything  he  passes?  Look 
at  him  now!  He  doesn't  like  that  hand-cart  with 
red  paint." 

''He's  an  artist,"  grinned  Archie.  "It  offends 
his  eye;  and  no  wonder.  Don't  be  alarmed, 
though!  He  won't  do  anything  outrageous.  My 
man  knows  how  to  manage  him." 

Nina  leant  back.  She  was  not,  as  a  rule,  nerv 
ous,  but,  as  Archie's  new  purchase  was  forced 
protesting  past  the  object  of  his  fright,  she  was 
conscious  of  a  very  decided  feeling  of  uneasi 
ness.  The  animal  looked  to  her  vicious  as  well 
as  alarmed. 

They  got  safely  past  the  hand-cart,  and  a  brief 
interval  of  tranquillity  followed  as  they  trotted 
briskly  down  Ludgate  Hill. 

"He  won't  have  time  to  look  at  anything  now," 
said  Archie  cheerfully. 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  the 
tire  of  a  stationary  car  they  were  passing  exploded 
with  a  report  like  a  rifle  shot.  In  a  second  Archie's 
animal  leapt  into  the  air,  struck  the  ground  with 
all  four  hoofs  together — and  bolted. 

"My  man's  got  him,"  said  Archie.  "Sit  still! 
Nothing's  going  to  happen." 

He  put  his  arm  in  front  of  Nina  and  gripped 
the  farther  side  of  the  hansom. 

But  Nina  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of  los 
ing  her  head.  During  the  first  few  moments  her 


Rosa  Mundi 


sensations  were  more  of  breathless  interest  than 
fear.  Certainly  she  was  very  far  from  panic. 

She  saw  the  roadway  before  them  clear  as  if  by 
magic  before  their  galloping  advance.  She  heard 
shouts,  warning  cries,  yells  of  excitement.  She 
also  heard,  very  close  to  her,  Archie's  voice,  swear 
ing  so  evenly  and  deliberately  that  she  was  pos 
sessed  by  an  insane  desire  to  laugh  at  him.  Above 
everything  else,  she  heard  the  furious,  frantic 
rhythm  of  the  flying  hoofs  before  them.  And  yet 
somehow  inexplicably  she  did  not  at  first  feel  afraid. 

They  tore  with  a  speed  that  seemed  to  increase 
momentarily  straight  dowrn  the  thoroughfare  that 
a  few  seconds  before  had  seemed  choked  with 
traffic.  They  shaved  by  vans,  omnibuses,  hand- 
barrows.  Houses  and  shops  seemed  to  whirl  past 
them,  like  a  revolving  nightmare  —  ever  the  same, 
yet  somehow  ever  different.  A  train  was  thunder 
ing  over  the  bridge  as  they  galloped  beneath  it. 
The  maddened  horse  heard  and  stretched  himself 
to  his  utmost  speed. 

And  then  came  tragedy  —  the  tragedy  that  Nina 
always  felt  that  she  had  known  from  the  beginning 
of  that  wild  gallop  must  come. 

As  they  raced  on  to  Ludgate  Circus  she  had  a 
momentary  glimpse  of  a  boy  on  a  bicycle  travers 
ing  the  street  before  them  at  right  angles.  Archie 
ceased  suddenly  to  swear.  The  reins  that  till  then 
had  been  taut  sagged  down  abruptly.  He  made  a 
clutch  at  them  and  failed  to  catch  them.  They 
slipped  away  sideways  and  dragged  on  the  ground. 


The  Deliverer 


There  came  a  shock,  a  piercing  cry.  Nina 
started  forward  for  the  first  time,  but  Archie 
flung  his  arms  round  her,  holding  her  fast.  Then 
they  were  free  of  the  obstacle  and  dashing  on 
again. 

'  '  Let  me  see  !  '  '  she  gasped.     '  '  Let  me  see  !  '  ' 

They  bumped  against  a  curb  and  nearly  over 
turned.  Then  one  of  their  wheels  caught  another 
vehicle.  The  hansom  was  whizzed  half  round, 
but  the  pitiless  hoofs  still  tore  on  and  almost 
miraculously  the  worst  was  still  averted. 

Archie's  hold  was  close  and  nearly  suffocated 
her;  but  over  his  shoulder  Nina  still  managed  to 
look  ahead. 

And  thus  looking  she  saw  the  most  wonderful, 
and  the  most  terrifying,  episode  of  the  whole 
adventure. 

She  saw  a  man  in  faultless  City  attire  leap  sud 
denly  from  the  footway  to  the  road  in  front  of 
them.  For  a  breathless  instant  she  saw  him  poised 
to  spring,  and  in  her  heart  there  ran  a  sudden, 
choking  sense  of  anguished  recognition.  She  shut 
her  eyes  and  cowered  in  Archie's  arms.  Deliver 
ance  was  coming.  She  felt  it  in  every  nerve.  But 
how  ?  And  by  whom  ? 

There  came  a  jerk  and  a  plunge,  a  furious, 
straining  effort.  The  fierce  galloping  ceased,  yet 
they  made  still  for  a  few  yards  a  halting,  difficult 
progress. 

Then  they  stopped  altogether,  and  she  felt  the 
shock  of  hoofs  upon  the  splashboard. 


142  Rosa  Mundi 

Another  moment  and  that,  too,  ceased.  They 
stood  still,  and  Archie's  arms  relaxed. 

Nina  lifted  her  head  and  saw  her  husband  hat- 
less  in  the  road,  his  face  set  and  grim,  his  hands 
gripping  the  reins  with  a  strength  that  evidently 
impressed  upon  the  runaway  the  futility  of  opposi 
tion.  In  his  eyes  was  a  look  that  made  her  tremble. 

VIII 

AFTER  THE  ACCIDENT 

"You  had  better  go  home  in  the  car,"  Wingarde 
said.  "It  is  waiting  for  me  in  Fenwick  Street. 
Mr.  Neville,  perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to 
accompany  my  wife.  Your  animal  is  tame  enough 
now.  Your  man  will  have  no  difficulty  with  it, 
if  he  is  to  be  found." 

"  Ah !     Exactly ! ' '  Archie  said. 

He  looked  round  vaguely.  Nina  was  leaning  on 
his  arm.  His  man  was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  having 
some  minutes  since  abandoned  a  situation  which  he 
had  discovered  to  be  beyond  his  powers  to  deal 
with. 

A  crowd  surrounded  them,  and  a  man  at  his 
elbow  informed  him  that  his  driver  had  thrown 
down  the  reins  and  jumped  off  before  they  were 
clear  of  the  railway  bridge.  Archie  swallowed  the 
comment  upon  this  discreet  behaviour,  that  rose 
to  his  lips. 

A  moment  later  Wingarde,  who  had  seemed  on 


The  Deliverer  H3 

the  point  of  depaiture,  pushed  his  way1  hastily 
back  to  him. 

' '  Never  mind  the  hansom ! "  he  said.  ' '  I  believe 
your  man  has  been  hurt.  I  will  see  to  it.  Just 
take  my  wife  out  of  this,  will  you?  I  want  to  see 
if  that  boy  is  alive  or  dead." 

He  had  turned  again  with  the  words,  forcing  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  Nina  pressed  after  him. 
She  was  as  white  as  the  dress  she  wore.  There 
was  no  holding  her  back.  Archie  could  only 
accompany  her. 

It  was  difficult  to  get  through  the  gathering 
throng.  When  finally  they  succeeded  in  doing  so, 
they  found  Wingarde  stooping  over  the  uncon 
scious  victim  of  the  accident.  He  had  satisfied 
himself  that  the  boy  lived,  and  was  feeling  rapidly 
for  broken  bones. 

Becoming  aware  of  Nina's  presence,  he  looked 
up  with  a  frown.  Then,  seeing  her  piteous  face, 
he  refrained  from  uttering  the  curt  rebuke  that 
had  risen  to  his  lips. 

"I  want  you  to  go  home,"  he  said.  "I  will  do 
all  that  is  necessary  here.  Neville,  take  my  wife 
home!  The  car  is  close  at  hand  in  Fenwick 
Street." 

"He  isn't  dead?"  faltered  Nina  shakily. 

"No — certainly  not."  Wingarde's  voice  was 
confident. 

He  turned  from  her  to  speak  to  a  policeman ;  and 
Nina  yielded  to  Archie's  hand  on  her  arm.  She 
was  more  upset  than  she  had  realized. 


144  Rosa  Mundi 

Neither  of  them  spoke  during  the  drive  west 
wards.  Archie  scowled  a  good  deal,  but  he  gave 
no  vent  to  his  feelings. 

Arrived  in  Crofton  Square,  he  would  have  taken 
his  leave  of  her.  But  Nina  would  not  hear  of  this. 

"Please  stay  till  Hereford  comes!  "she  entreated. 
"You  will  want  to  know  what  he  has  done. 
Besides,  I  want  you." 

Archie  yielded  to  pressure.  No  word  was 
spoken  by  either  in  praise  or  admiration  of  the  man 
who  had  risked  his  life  to  save  theirs.  Somehow 
it  was  a  difficult  subject  between  them. 

Nearly  two  hours  later  Wingarde  arrived  on 
foot.  He  reported  Archie's  man  only  slightly  the 
worse  for  his  adventure. 

"It  ought  to  have  killed  him,"  he  said  briefly. 
' '  But  men  of  that  sort  never  are  killed.  I  told  him 
to  drive  back  to  stables.  The  horse  was  as  quiet 
as  a  lamb." 

"And  the  boy?"  Nina  asked  eagerly. 

"Oh,  the  boy!"  Wingarde  said.  "His  case  is 
more  serious.  He  was  taken  to  the  Wade  Home. 
I  went  with  him.  I  happen  to  know  Wade." 

"That's  the  West  End  physician,"  said  Archie. 
"He  calls  himself  Wade,  I  know,  when  he  wants 
to  be  incog." 

"That's  the  man,"  said  Wingarde.  "But  I  am 
not  acquainted  with  him  as  the  West  End  physi 
cian.  He  is  purely  a  City  acquaintance.  Oh,  are 
you  going,  Neville?  We  shall  see  you  again,  I 
suppose?" 


The  Deliverer  145 

It  was  not  cordially  spoken.  Archie  coloured 
and  glanced  at  Nina. 

"You  are  coming  to  dinner,  aren't  you?"  she 
said  at  once.  "Please  do!  We  shall  be  alone. 
And  you  promised,  didn't  you?" 

Archie  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Wingarde  was 
looking  at  him  piercingly. 

"I  hope  you  won't  allow  my  presence  to  inter 
fere  with  any  plans  you  may  have  made  for 
to-night's  amusement,"  he  remarked.  "I  shall  be 
obliged  to  go  out  myself  after  dinner." 

Archie  drew  himself  up.  Wingarde's  tone 
stung. 

' '  You  are  very  good , ' '  he  said  stiffl  y .  "  What  do 
you  say,  Nina?  Do  you  feel  up  to  the  theatre?" 

Nina's  colour  also  was  very  high.  But  her  eyes 
looked  softer  than  usual.  She  turned  to  her 
husband. 

"Couldn't  you  come,  too,  for  once,  Hereford?" 
she  asked.  "We  were  thinking  of  the  theatre. 
It — it  would  be  nice  if  you  came  too." 

The  falter  in  the  last  sentence  betrayed  the  fact 
that  she  was  nervous. 

Wingarde  smiled  faintly,  contemptuously,  as  he 
made  reply. 

"Really,  that's  very  kind  of  you,"  he  said. 
"But  I  am  compelled  to  plead  a  prior  engage 
ment.  You  will  be  home  by  midnight,  I  suppose  ? " 

Archie  made  an  abrupt  movement.  For  a 
second  he  hovered  on  the  verge  of  an  indignant 
outburst.  The  man's  manner,  rather  than  his 


146  Rosa  Mundi 

words,  was  insufferable.  But  in  that  second  he 
met  Wingarde's  eyes,  and  something  he  saw  there 
checked  him.  He  pulled  himself  together  and 
somewhat  awkwardly  took  his  leave. 

Wingarde  saw  him  off,  with  the  scoffing  smile 
upon  his  lips.  When  he  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room  Nina  was  on  her  feet,  waiting  for  him.  She 
was  still  unusually  pale,  and  her  eyes  were  very- 
bright.  She  wore  a  restless,  startled  look,  as 
though  her  nerves  were  on  the  stretch. 

Wingarde  glanced  at  her. 

"You  had  better  go  and  lie  down  till  dinner," 
he  said. 

Nina  looked  back  at  him.  Her  lips  quivered  a 
little,  but  when  she  spoke  her  voice  was  absolutely 
steady.  She  held  her  head  resolutely  high. 

"I  think  Archie  must  have  forgotten  to  thank 
you,"  she  said,  "for  what  you  did.  But  I  have 
not.  Will  you  accept  my  gratitude  ?" 

There  was  proud  humility  in  her  voice.  But 
Wingarde  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  sneer. 

' '  Your  gratitude  would  have  been  more  genuine 
if  you  had  been  saved  a  widow  instead  of  a  wife," 
he  said  brutally. 

She  recoiled  from  him.  Her  eyes  flashed  furious 
indignation.  She  felt  as  if  he  had  struck  her  in 
the  face.  She  spoke  instantly  and  vehemently. 
Her  voice  shook. 

"That  is  a  poison  of  your  own  mixing,"  she  said. 
"You  know  it!" 

"What!     It  isn't  true?"  he  asked. 


The  Deliverer  H7 

He  drew  suddenly  close  to  her.  His  eyes 
gleamed  also  with  the  gleam  of  a  smouldering 
fire.  She  saw  that  he  was  moved.  She  believed 
him  to  be  angry.  Trembling,  yet  scornful,  she 
held  her  peace. 

He  gripped  her  wrists  suddenly,  bending  his 
dark  face  close  to  hers. 

"If  it  isn't  true — "  he  said,  and  stopped. 

She  drew  back  from  him  with  a  startled  move 
ment.  For  an  instant  her  eyes  challenged  his. 
Then  abruptly  their  fierce  resistance  failed.  She 
turned  her  face  aside  and  burst  into  tears. 

In  a  moment  she  was  free.  Her  husband  stood 
regarding  her  with  a  very  curious  look  in  his  eyes. 
He  watched  her  as  she  moved  slowly  away  from 
him,  fighting  fiercely,  desperately,  to  regain  her 
self-control.  He  saw  her  sit  down,  leaving  almost 
the  length  of  the  room  between  them,  and  lean  her 
head  upon  her  hand. 

Then  the  man's  arrested  brutality  suddenly 
reasserted  itself,  and  he  strode  to  the  door. 

"Pshaw!"  he  exclaimed  as  he  went.  "Don't  I 
know  that  you  pray  for  a  deliverer  every  night  of 
your  life?  And  what  deliverer  would  you  have  if 
not  death — the  surest  of  all — in  your  case  positive 
ly  the  only  one  within  the  bounds  of  possibility?" 

He  was  gone  with  the  words,  but  she  would  not 
have  attempted  to  answer  them  had  he  stayed. 
Her  head  was  bowed  almost  to  her  knees,  and  she 
sat  quite  motionless,  as  if  he  had  stabbed  her  to 
the  heart. 


148  Rosa  Mundi 

Later  she  dined  alone  with  Archie  in  her  hus 
band's  unexplained  absence,  and  later  still,  at  the 
theatre,  her  face  was  as  gay,  her  laugh  as  frequent, 
as  any  there. 

IX 

THE  END  OF  A  MYSTERY 

ON  the  following  afternoon  Nina  went  to  the 
Wade  Home  to  see  the  victim  of  the  accident.  She 
was  received  by  the  matron,  a  middle-aged,  kindly 
woman,  who  was  openly  pleased  with  the  concern 
her  visitor  exhibited. 

"Oh,  he's  better,"  she  said,  "much  better.  But 
I'm  afraid  I  can't  let  you  see  him  now,  as  he  is 
asleep.  Dr.  Wade  examined  him  himself  yester 
day.  And  he  was  here  again  this  morning.  His 
opinion  is  that  the  spine  has  been  only  bruised. 
While  unconsciousness  lasted,  it  was,  of  course, 
difficult  to  tell.  But  the  patient  became  conscious 
this  morning,  and  Dr.  Wade  said  he  was  very  well 
pleased  with  him  on  the  whole.  He  thinks  we  shall 
not  have  him  very  long.  He's  a  bright  little  chap 
and  thoroughly  likes  his  quarters.  His  father  is  a 
dock  labourer.  Everyone  knows  the  Wade  Home, 
and  all  the  patients  consider  themselves  very 
lucky  to  be  here.  You  see,  the  doctor  is  such  a 
favourite  wherever  he  goes." 

"I  have  never  met  Dr.  Wade,"  Nina  said.  "I 
suppose  he  is  a  great  man?" 


The  Deliverer  149 

The  matron's  jolly  face  glowed  with  enthusiasm. 

"He  is  indeed,"  she  said — "a  splendid  man. 
You  probably  know  him  by  another  name.  They 
say  he  is  a  leading  physician  in  the  West  End. 
But  we  City  people  know  him  and  love  him  by 
his  assumed  name  only.  Why,  only  lately  he 
cut  short  his  holiday  on  purpose  to  be  near  one 
of  his  patients  who  was  dying.  If  you  could 
manage  to  come  to-morrow  afternoon  after  four 
o'clock,  no  doubt  you  would  see  him.  It  is  visit 
ing-day,  and  he  is  always  here  on  Sunday  after 
noons  between  three  and  six  in  case  the  visitors 
like  to  see  him.  I  should  be  delighted  to  give 
you  some  tea.  And  you  could  then  see  the  little 
boy." 

"Thank  you,"  Nina  said.     "I  will." 

That  evening  she  chanced  to  meet  Archie 
Neville  at  a  friend's  dinner-table  and  imparted 
to  him  her  purpose. 

' '  Jove ! "  he  said.  ' '  Good  idea !  I  '11  come  with 
you,  shall  I?" 

"Please  not  in  the  hansom!"  she  said. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  returned  Archie.  "But  you 
needn't  be  nervous.  I've  sacked  that  man.  No 
matter!  We'll  go  in  a  wheelbarrow  if  you  think 
that '11  be  safer." 

Nina  laughed  and  agreed  to  accept  his  escort. 
Archie's  society  was  a  very  welcome  distraction 
just  then. 

To  her  husband  she  made  no  mention  of  her 
intention.  She  had  established  the  custom  of 


Rosa  Mundi 


going  her  own  way  at  all  times.  It  did  not  even 
cross  her  mind  to  introduce  the  subject.  He  was 
treating  her  with  that  sarcastic  courtesy  of  his 
which  was  so  infinitely  hard  to  bear.  It  hurt  her 
horribly,  and  because  of  the  pain  she  avoided  him 
as  much  as  she  dared. 

She  did  not  know  how  he  spent  his  time  on 
Sundays.  Except  for  his  presence  at  luncheon  she 
found  she  was  left  as  completely  to  her  own  devices 
as  on  other  days. 

She  had  agreed  to  drive  Archie  to  the  Wade 
Home  in  her  husband's  landaulette. 

Wingarde  left  the  house  before  three  and  she  was 
alone  when  Archie  arrived. 

The  latter  looked  at  her  critically. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,"  she  returned  instantly.     "Why?" 

"You're  looking  off  colour,"  he  said. 

Nina  turned  from  him  impatiently. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,"  she  said. 
"Shall  we  start?" 

Archie  said  no  more.  But  he  glanced  at  her 
curiously  from  time  to  time.  He  wondered 
privately  if  her  husband's  society  were  driving  her 
to  that  extreme  which  she  had  told  him  she  might 
reach  eventually. 

Visitors  were  being  admitted  to  the  Wade  Home 
when  they  arrived.  They  were  directed  to  the 
ward  where  lay  the  boy  in  whom  they  were  inter 
ested.  Nina  presented  him  with  flowers  and  a 
book,  and  sat  for  some  time  talking  with  him. 


The  Deliverer  151 

The  little  fellow  was  hugely  flattered  by  her 
attentions,  though  too  embarrassed  to  express 
his  pleasure  in  words.  Archie  amused  himself  by 
making  pennies  appear  and  disappear  in  the  palms 
of  his  hands  for  the  benefit  of  a  sad-faced  urchin 
in  the  next  bed  who  had  no  visitors. 

In  the  midst  of  this  the  matron  bustled  in  to  beg 
Nina  and  her  companion  to  take  a  cup  of  tea  in 
her  room. 

"Dr.  Wade  is  here  and  sure  to  come  in,"  she 
said.  "I  should  like  you  to  meet  him." 

Nina  accordingly  took  leave  of  her  protege,  and, 
followed  by  Archie,  repaired  to  the  matron's 
room. 

The  windows  were  thrown  wide  open,  for  the 
afternoon  was  hot.  They  sat  down,  feeling  that 
tea  was  a  welcome  sight. 

"I  have  a  separate  brew  for  Dr.  Wade,"  said  the 
matron  cheerily.  "He  likes  it  so  very  strong. 
He  almost  always  takes  a  cup.  There!  I  hear 
him  coming  now." 

There  sounded  a  step  in  the  passage  and  a  man's 
quiet  laugh.  Nina  started  slightly. 

A  moment  later  a  voice  in  the  doorway  said: 

"  Ah !  Here  you  are,  Mrs.  Ritchie !  I  have  just 
been  prescribing  a  piece  of  sugar  for  this  patient 
of  ours.  Her  mother  is  waiting  to  take  her 
away." 

Nina  was  on  her  feet  in  an  instant.  All  the 
blood  seemed  to  rush  to  her  heart.  Its  throbs  felt 
thick  and  heavy.  On  the  threshold  her  husband 


152  Rosa  Mundi 

stood,  looking  full  at  her.  In  his  arms  was  a  little 
child. 

"Dr.  Wade!"  smiled  the  matron.  "You  do 
spoil  your  patients,  sir.  There!  Let  me  take 
her!  Please  come  in !  Your  tea  is  just  ready.  I 
^as  just  talking  about  you  to  Mrs.  Wingarde, 
who  came  to  see  the  boy  who  was  knocked  down 
by  a  hansom  last  week.  Madam,  this  is  Dr. 
Wade." 

She  went  forward  to  lift  the  child  out  of  Win- 
garde's  arms.  There  followed  a  silence,  a  brief, 
hard-strung  silence.  Nina  stood  quite  still.  Her 
hands  were  unconsciously  clasped  together.  She 
was  white  to  the  lips.  But  she  kept  her  eyes 
raised  to  Wingarde's  face.  He  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  through  her,  and  in  his  eyes  was  that  look  with 
which  he  had  regarded  her  when  he  had  saved  her 
life  and  Archie's  two  days  before. 

He  spoke  almost  before  the  matron  had  begun 
to  notice  anything  unusual  in  the  atmosphere. 

"Ah!"  he  said,  with  a  slight  bow.  "You  know 
me  under  different  circumstances — you  and  Mr. 
Neville.  You  did  not  expect  to  meet  me  here?" 

Archie  glanced  at  Nina  and  saw  her  agitation. 
He  came  coolly  forward  and  placed  himself  in  the 
breach. 

"We  certainly  didn't,"  he  said.  "It's  good 
sometimes  to  know  that  people  are  not  all  they 
seem.  I  congratulate  you,  er — Dr.  Wade." 

Wingarde  turned  his  attention  to  his  wife's 
companion.  His  face  was  very  dark. 


The  Deliverer  153 

"Take  the  child  to  her  mother,  please,  Mrs. 
Ritchie!"  he  said  curtly,  over  his  shoulder. 

The  matron  departed  discreetly,  but  at  the  door 
the  child  in  her  arms  began  to  cry. 

Wingarde  turned  swiftly,  took  the  little  one's 
face  between  his  hands,  spoke  a  soft  word,  and* 
kissed  it. 

Then,  as  the  matron  moved  away,  he  walked 
back  into  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
All  the  tenderness  with  which  he  had  comforted 
the  wailing  baby  had  vanished  from  his  face. 

"Mr.  Neville,"  he  said  shortly,  "my  wife  will 
return  in  the  car  with  me.  I  will  relieve  you  of 
your  attendance  upon  her." 

Archie  turned  crimson,  but  he  managed  to  con 
trol  himself — more  for  the  sake  of  the  girl  who 
stood  in  total  silence  by  his  side  than  from  any 
idea  of  expediency. 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  "if  Mrs.  Wingarde  also 
prefers  that  arrangement." 

Nina  glanced  at  him.  He  saw  that  her  lip  was 
quivering  painfully.  She  did  not  attempt  to 
speak. 

Archie  turned  to  go.  But  almost  instantly 
Wingarde's  voice  arrested  him. 

"I  can  give  you  a  seat  in  the  car  if  you  wish," 
he  said.  He  spoke  with  less  sternness,  but  his 
face  had  not  altered. 

Archie  stopped.  Again  for  Nina's  sake  he 
choked  back  his  wrath  and  accepted  the  churlishly 
proffered  amendment. 


154  Rosa  Mundi 

Wingarde  drank  his  tea,  strolling  about  the 
room.  He  did  not  again  address  his  wife  directly. 

As  for  Nina,  though  she  answered  Archie  when 
he  spoke  to  her,  it  was  with  very  obvious  effort. 
She  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  her  husband  as 

«in  some  uncertainty.  Finally,  when  they  took 
ave  of  the  matron  and  went  down  to  the  car  she 
seemed  to  hail  the  move  with  relief. 

Throughout  the  drive  westwards  scarcely  a 
word  was  spoken.  At  the  end  of  the  journey 
Archie  turned  deliberately  and  addressed  Win- 
garde.  His  face  was  white  and  dogged. 

"I  should  like  a  word  with  you  in  private,"  he 
said. 

Wingarde  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if 
he  meant  to  refuse.  Then  abruptly  he  gave 
way. 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  he  said  formally. 

And  Archie  marched  into  the  house  in  Nina's 
wake. 

In  the  hall  Wingarde  touched  his  shoulder. 

' '  Come  into  the  smoking-room ! "  he  said  quietly. 

X 

TAKEN  TO  TASK 

"I  WANT  to  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Archie. 

He  stood  up  very  straight,  with  the  summer 
sunlight  full  in  his  face,  and  confronted  Nina's 
husband  without  a  hint  of  dismay  in  his  bearing. 


The  Deliverer  155 

Wingarde  looked  at  him  with  a  very  faint  smile 
on  his  grim  lips. 

' '  You  wish  to  take  me  to  task  ? "  he  asked. 

"I  do,"  said  Archie  decidedly. 

"For  what  in  particular?  The  innocent  decep 
tion  practised  upon  an  equally  innocent  public? 
Or  for  something  more  serious  than  that?" 

There  was  an  unmistakable  ring  of  sternness 
behind  Wingarde 's  deliberately  scoffing  tone. 

Archie  answered  him  instantly,  with  the  quick 
ness  of  a  man  who  fights  for  his  honour. 

"For  something  more  serious,"  he  said.  "It's 
nothing  to  me  what  fool  trick  you  may  choose  to 
play  for  your  own  amusement.  But  I  am  not 
going  to  swallow  an  insult  from  you  or  any  man. 
I  want  an  explanation  for  that." 

Wingarde  stood  with  his  back  to  the  light  and 
looked  at  him. 

"In  what  way  have  I  insulted  you?"  he  said. 

"You  implied  that  I  was  not  a  suitable  escort 
for  your  wife,"  Archie  said,  forcing  himself  to 
speak  without  vehemence. 

Wingarde  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"I  apologize  if  I  was  too  emphatic,"  he  said, 
after  a  moment.  "But,  considering  the  circum 
stances,  I  am  forced  to  tell  you  that  I  do  not 
consider  you  a  suitable  escort  for  my  wife." 

"What  circumstances?"  said  Archie.  He 
clenched  his  hands  abruptly,  and  Wingarde  saw- 
it. 

"Please  understand,"  he  said  curtly,  "that  I  will 


156  Rosa  Mundi 

listen  to  you  only  so  long  as  you  keep  your  temper ! 
I  believe  that  you  know  what  I  mean — what 
circumstances  I  refer  to.  If  you  wish  me  to  put 
them  into  plain  language  I  will  do  so.  But  I 
don't  think  you  will  like  it." 

Archie  pounced  upon  the  words. 

"You  would  probably  put  me  to  the  trouble  of 
calling  you  a  liar  if  you  did,"  he  said,  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "I  have  no  more  intention  than  you  have 
of  mincing  matters.  As  to  listening  to  me,  you 
shall  do  that  in  any  case.  I  am  going  to  tell  you 
the  truth,  and  I  mean  that  you  shall  hear  it." 

He  strode  to  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  locked 
it,  pocketing  the  key. 

Wingarde  did  not  stir  to  prevent  him.  He 
waited  with  a  sneer  on  his  lips  while  Archie 
returned  and  took  up  his  stand  facing  him. 

"You  seem  very  sure  of  yourself,"  he  said  in  a 
quiet  tone. 

"I  am,"  Archie  said  doggedly.  "Absolutely 
sure.  You  think  I  am  in  love  with  your  wife, 
don't  you?" 

Wingarde  frowned  heavily. 

"Are  you  going  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes?"  he 
asked  contemptuously. 

Archie  locked  his  hands  behind  him. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  said 
again,  and,  though  his  voice  still  shook  perceptibly 
there  was  dignity  in  his  bearing.  "Three  years 
ago  I  was  in  love  with  her." 

"Calf  love?"  suggested  Wingarde  carelessly. 


The  Deliverer  157 

"You  may  call  it  what  you  like,"  Archie 
rejoined.  "That  is  to  say,  anything  honourable. 
I  was  hard  hit  three  years  ago,  and  it  lasted  off 
and  on  till  her  marriage  to  you.  But  she  never 
cared  for  me  in  the  same  way.  That  I  know  now. 
I  proposed  to  her  twice,  and  she  refused  me." 

"You  weren't  made  of  money,  you  see,"  sneered 
Wingarde. 

Archie's  fingers  gripped  each  other.  He  had 
never  before  longed  so  fiercely  to  hurl  a  blow  in  a 
man's  face. 

"If  I  had  been,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  sure  that  I 
should  have  made  the  running  with  you  in  the 
field.  That  brings  me  to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you. 
I  wondered  for  a  long  time  how  she  brought  herself 
to  marry  you.  When  you  came  back  from  your 
honeymoon  I  began  to  understand.  She  married 
you  for  your  money;  but  if  you  had  chosen,  she 
would  have  married  you  for  love." 

He  blurted  out  the  words  hastily,  as  though  he 
could  not  trust  himself  to  pause  lest  he  should  not 
say  them. 

Wingarde  stood  up  suddenly  to  his  full  height. 
For  once  he  was  taken  totally  by  surprise  and 
showed  it.  He  did  not  speak,  however,  and 
Archie  blundered  on : 

"I  am  not  your  friend.  I  don't  say  this  in  any 
way  for  your  sake.  But — I  am  her's — her  friend, 
mind  you.  I  don't  say  I  haven't  ever  flirted  with 
her.  I  have.  But  I  have  never  said  to  her  a 
single  word  that  I  should  be  ashamed  to  repeat 


158  Rosa  Mundi 

to  you — not  one  word.  You've  got  to  believe  that 
whether  you  want  to  or  not." 

He  paused  momentarily.  The  frown  had  died 
away  from  Wingarde's  face,  but  his  eyes  were 
stern.  He  waited  silently  for  more.  Archie 
proceeded  with  more  steadiness,  more  self-assur 
ance,  less  self-restraint. 

"You've  treated  her  abominably,"  he  said, 
going  straight  to  the  point.  "I  don't  care  what 
you  think  of  me  for  saying  so.  It's  the  truth. 
You've  deceived  her,  neglected  her,  bullied  her. 
Deny  it  if  you  can!  Oh,  no,  this  isn't  what  she 
has  told  me.  It  has  been  as  plain  as  daylight.  I 
couldn't  have  avoided  knowing  it.  You  made 
her  your  wife,  Heaven  knows  why.  You  probably 
cared  for  her  in  your  own  brutal  fashion.  But 
you  have  never  taken  the  trouble  to  make  her  care 
for  you.  You  never  go  out  with  her.  You  never 
consider  her  in  any  way.  You  see  her  wretched, 
ill  almost,  under  your  eyes;  and  instead  of  putting 
it  down  to  your  own  confounded  churlishness,  you 
turn  round  and  insult  me  for  behaving  decently  to 
her.  There !  I  have  done.  You  can  kick  me  out 
of  the  house  as  soon  as  you  like.  But  you  won't 
find  it  so  easy  to  forget  what  I've  said.  You  know 
in  your  heart  that  it's  the  truth." 

Archie  ended  his  vigorous  speech  with  the  full 
expectation  of  being  made  to  pay  the  penalty  by 
means  of  a  damaged  skin. 

Wingarde's  face  was  uncompromising.  It  told 
nothing  of  his  mood  during  the  heavy  silence  that 


The  Deliverer  159 

followed.  It  was,  therefore,  a  considerable  shock 
when  he  abruptly  surrendered  the  citadel  without 
striking  a  single  blow. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Neville,"  he  said 
very  quietly.  "And  I  beg  to  apologize  for 
a  most  unworthy  suspicion.  Will  you  shake 
hands?" 

Archie  tumbled  off  his  high  horse  with  more 
speed  than  elegance.  He  thrust  out  his  hand  with 
an  inarticulate  murmur  of  assent.  Perhaps  after 
all  the  fellow  had  been  no  worse  than  an  un 
mannerly  bear.  The  next  minute  he  was  discuss 
ing  politics  with  the  monster  he  had  dared  to  beard 
in  his  own  den. 

When  Nina  saw  her  husband  again  he  treated 
her  with  a  courtesy  so  scrupulous  that  she  felt 
the  miserable  scourge  of  her  uncertainty  at  work 
again.  She  would  have  given  much  to  have 
possessed  the  key  to  his  real  feelings.  With  regard 
to  his  establishment  of  the  Wade  Home,  he  gave 
her  the  briefest  explanation.  He  had  been 
originally  intended  for  a  doctor,  he  said,  had 
passed  his  medical  examinations,  and  been 
qualified  to  practise.  Then,  at  the  last  minute, 
a  chance  opening  had  presented  itself,  and  he  had 
gone  into  finance  instead. 

"After  that,"  he  somewhat  sarcastically  said,  "I 
gave  myself  up  to  the  all  absorbing  business  of 
money-making.  And  doctoring  became  merely 
my  fad,  my  amusement,  my  recreation — whatever 
you  please  to  call  it." 


160  Rosa  Mundi 

"I  wish  you  had  told  me,"  Nina  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

At  which  remark  he  merely  shrugged  his  shoul 
ders,  making  no  rejoinder. 

She  felt  hurt  by  his  manner  and  said  no  more. 
Only  later  there  came  to  her  the  memory  of  the 
man  she  feared,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the 
matron's  room  with  a  little  child  in  his  arms. 
Somehow  that  picture  was  very  vividly  impressed 
upon  her  mind. 

XI 
MONEY'S  NOT  EVERYTHING 

' '  WHAT  !    You  are  coming  too  ? ' ' 

Nina  stopped  short  on  her  way  to  the  car  and 
gazed  at  her  husband  in  amazement. 

He  had  returned  early  from  the  City,  and  she 
now  met  him  dressed  to  attend  a  garden-party 
whither  she  herself  was  going. 

He  bent  his  head  in  answer  to  her  surprised 
question. 

"I  shall  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  accompany 
ing  you,"  he  said,  with  much  formality. 

She  coloured  and  bit  her  lip.  Swift  as  evil 
came  the  thought  that  he  resented  her  intimacy 
with  Archie  and  was  determined  to  frustrate  any 
attempt  on  their  part  to  secure  a  tete-d-tete. 

"You  take  great  care  of  me,"  she  said,  with  a 
bitter  little  smile. 


The  Deliverer  161 

Wingarde  made  no  response;  his  face  was  quite 
inscrutable. 

They  scarcely  spoke  during  the  drive,  and  she 
kept  her  face  averted.  Only  when  he  held  out 
his  hand  to  assist  her  to  alight  she  met  his  eye 
for  an  instant  and  wondered  vaguely  at  the  look 
he  gave  her. 

The  party  was  a  large  one;  the  lawns  were 
crowded.  Nina  took  the  first  opportunity  that 
offered  to  slip  away  from  him,  for  she  felt  hope 
lessly  ill  at  ease  in  his  company.  The  sensation 
of  being  watched  that  had  oppressed  her  during 
her  brief  honeymoon  had  reawakened. 

Archie  presently  joined  her. 

"Did  I  see  the  hero  of  the  Crawley  gold  field 
just  now  ? "  he  asked.  ' '  Or  was  it  hallucination  ? ' ' 

Nina  looked  at  him  with  a  very  bored  expression. 

"Oh,  yes,  my  husband  is  here,"  she  said.  "I 
suppose  you  had  better  not  stay  with  me  or  he  will 
come  up  and  be  rude  to  you." 

Archie  chuckled. 

"Not  he!  We  understand  one  another,"  he 
said  lightly.  "But,  I  say,  what  an  impostor  the 
fellow  is!  Everyone  knows  about  Dr.  Wade, 
but  no  one  connects  him  in  the  smallest  degree 
with  Hereford  Wingarde.  It  shouldn't  be  al 
lowed  to  go  on.  You  ought  to  tell  the  town- 
crier." 

Nina  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a  somewhat 
dismal  effort. 

' '  Come  along ! ' '  said  Archie  cheerily.     ' '  There's 


162  Rosa  Mundi 

my  mother  over  there;  she  has  been  wondering 
where  you  were." 

Nina  went  with  him  with  a  nervous  wonder  if 
Hereford  were  still  watching  her,  but  she  saw 
nothing  of  him. 

The  afternoon  wore  away  in  music  and  gaiety. 
A  great  many  of  her  acquaintances  were  present, 
and  to  Nina  the  time  passed  quickly. 

She  was  sitting  in  a  big  marquee  drinking  the 
tea  that  Archie  had  brought  her  when  she  next  saw 
her  husband.  By  chance  she  discovered  him 
talking  with  a  man  she  did  not  know,  not  ten  yards 
from  her.  The  tent  was  fairly  full,  and  the  buzz  of 
conversation  was  continuous. 

Nina  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time  with  a 
curious  sense  of  uneasiness,  and  an  unaccountable 
desire  to  detach  him  from  his  acquaintance  grew 
gradually  upon  her. 

The  latter  was  a  heavy-browed  man  with  queer, 
furtive  eyes.  As  Nina  stealthily  watched  them 
she  saw  that  this  man  was  restless  and  agitated. 
Her  husband's  face  was  turned  from  her,  but  his 
attitude  was  one  of  careless  ease,  into  which  his  big 
limbs  dropped  when  he  was  at  leisure. 

Later  she  never  knew  by  what  impulse  she  acted. 
It  was  as  if  a  voice  suddenly  cried  aloud  in  her 
heart  that  Wingarde  was  in  deadly  danger.  She 
gave  Archie  her  cup  and  rose. 

"Just  a  moment!"  she  said  hurriedly.  "I  see 
Hereford  over  there." 

She  moved  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  two 


The  Deliverer  163 

men.  There  was  disaster  in  the  air.  She  seemed 
to  breathe  it  as  she  drew  near.  Her  husband 
straightened  himself  before  she  reached  him,  and 
half  turned  with  his  contemptuous  laugh.  The 
next  instant  Nina  saw  his  companion's  hand  whip 
something  from  behind  him.  She  shrieked  aloud 
and  sprang  forward  like  a  terrified  animal.  The 
man's  eyes  maddened  her  more  than  the  deadly 
little  weapon  that  flashed  into  view  in  his  right 
hand. 

There  followed  prompt  upon  her  cry  the  sharp 
explosion  of  a  revolver-shot,  and  then  the  din  of  a 
panic-stricken  crowd. 

But  Nina  did  not  share  the  panic.  She  had 
flung  herself  in  front  of  her  husband,  had  flung  her 
whole  weight  upon  the  upraised  arm  that  had 
pointed  the  revolver  and  borne  it  downwards  with 
all  her  strength.  Those  who  saw  her  action 
compared  it  later  with  the  furious  attack  of  a 
tigress  defending  her  young. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  brief  seconds.  Men 
crowded  round  and  overpowered  her  adversary. 
Someone  took  the  frenzied  girl  by  the  shoulders 
and  forced  her  to  relinquish  her  clutch. 

She  turned  and  looked  straight  into  Wingarde's 
face,  and  at  the  sight  her  nerves  gave  way  and  she 
broke  into  hysterical  sobbing,  though  she  knew  that 
he  was  safe. 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  led  her  from  the 
stifling  tent.  People  made  way  for  them.  Only 
their  hostess  and  Archie  Neville  followed. 


164  Rosa  Mundi 

Outside  on  the  lawn,  away  from  the  buzzing 
multitude,  Nina  began  to  recover  herself.  Archie 
brought  a  chair,  and  she  dropped  into  it,  but  she 
held  fast  to  Wingarde's  arm,  beseeching  him  over 
and  over  again  not  to  leave  her. 

Wingarde  stooped  over  her,  supporting  her; 
but  he  found  nothing  to  say  to  her.  He  briefly 
ordered  Archie  to  fetch  some  water,  and  made 
request  to  his  hostess,  almost  equally  brief,  that 
their  car  might  be  called  in  readiness  for  de 
parture.  But  his  manner  was  wholly  free  from 
agitation. 

"My  wife  will  recover  better  at  home,"  he  said, 
and  the  lady  of  the  house  went  away  with  a  good 
deal  of  tact  to  give  the  order  herself. 

Left  alone  with  him,  Nina  still  clung  to  her 
husband ;  but  she  grew  rapidly  calmer  in  his  quiet 
hold.  After  a  moment  he  spoke  to  her. 

"I  wonder  how  you  knew,"  he  said. 

Nina  leant  her  head  against  him  like  an  exhausted 
child. 

"I  saw  it  coming,"  she  said.  "It  was  in  his 
eyes — mad  hatred.  I  knew  he  was  going  to — to 
kill  you  if  he  could." 

She  did  not  want  to  meet  his  eyes,  but  he  gently 
compelled  her. 

"And  so  you  saved  my  life,"  he  said  in  a  quiet 
tone. 

"I  had  to,"  she  said  faintly. 

Archie  here  reappeared  with  a  glass  of  water. 

"The  fellow  is  in  a  fit,"  he  reported.     "They  are 


The  Deliverer  165 

taking  him  away.  Jove,  Wingarde!  You  ought 
to  be  a  dead  man.  If  Nina  hadn't  spoilt  that 
shot " 

Nina  was  shuddering,  and  he  broke  off. 

"You'd  better  give  up  cornering  gold  fields,"  he 
said  lightly.  "It  seems  he  was  nearly  ruined  over 
your  last  coup.  You  may  do  that  sort  of  thing 
once  too  often,  don't  you  know.  I  shouldn't 
chance  another  throw." 

Nina  stood  up  shakily  and  looked  at  her  husband. 

"If  you  only  would  give  it  up!"  she  said,  with 
trembling  vehemence.  ' '  I — I  hate  money ! ' ' 

Wingarde  made  no  response;  but  Archie 
instantly  took  her  up. 

"You  only  hate  money  for  what  it  can't  buy," 
he  said.  ' '  You  probably  expect  too  much  from  it. 
Don't  blame  money  for  that." 

Nina  uttered  a  tremulous  laugh  that  sounded 
strangely  passionate. 

"You're  quite  right,"  she  said.  "Money's  not 
everything.  I  have  weighed  it  in  the  balance  and 
found  it  wanting." 

"Yes,"  Wingarde  said  in  a  peculiar  tone. 
"And  so  have  I." 

XII 

AFTERWARDS — LOVE 

AN  overwhelming  shyness  possessed  Nina  that 
night.  She  dined  alone  with  her  husband,  and 


1 66  Rosa  Mundi 

found  his  silences  even  more  oppressive  than 
usual.  Yet,  when  she  rose  from  the  table,  an 
urgent  desire  to  keep  him  within  call  impelled  her 
to  pause. 

"Shall  you  be  late  to-night?"  she  asked  him, 
stopping  nervously  before  him,  as  he  stood  by  the 
open  door. 

"I  am  not  going  out  to-night,"  he  responded 
gravely." 

"Oh! "  Nina  hesitated  still.  She  was  trembling 
slightly.  "Then — I  shall  see  you  again?"  she 
said. 

He  bent  his  head. 

"I  shall  be  with  you  in  ten  minutes,"  he  replied. 

And  she  passed  out  quickly. 

The  night  was  still  and  hot.  She  went  into  her 
own  little  sitting-room  and  straight  to  the  open 
window.  Her  heart  was  beating  very  fast  as  she 
stood  and  looked  across  the  quiet  square.  The 
roar  of  London  hummed  busily  from  afar.  She 
heard  it  as  one  hears  the  rushing  of  unseen  water 
among  the  hills. 

There  was  no  one  moving  in  the  square.  The 
trees  in  the  garden  looked  dim  and  dreamlike 
against  a  red-gold  sky. 

Suddenly  in  the  next  house,  from  a  room  with 
an  open  window,  there  rose  the  sound  of  a  woman's 
voice,  tender  as  the  night.  It  reached  the  girl  who 
stood  waiting  in  the  silence.  The  melody  was 
familiar  to  her,  and  she  leant  forward  breathlessly 
to  catch  the  words : 


The  Deliverer  167 

Shadows  and  mist  and  night, 

Darkness  around  the  way; 
Here  a  cloud  and  there  a  star; 

Afterwards,  Day! 

There  came  a  pause  and  the  soft  notes  of  a  piano. 
Nina  stood  with  clasped  hands,  waiting  for  the 
second  verse.  Her  cheeks  were  wet. 

It  came,  slow  and  exquisitely  pure,  as  if  an 
angel  had  drawn  near  to  the  turbulent  earth  with 
a  message  of  healing : 

Sorrow  and  grief  and  tears, 

Eyes  vainly  raised  above ; 
Here  a  thorn  and  there  a  rose ; 

Afterwards,  Love! 

Nina  turned  from  the  open  window.  She  was 
groping,  for  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  From 
the  doorway  a  man  moved  quietly  to  meet  her. 

"Hereford!"  she  said  in  a  broken  whisper,  and 
went  straight  into  his  arms. 

He  held  her  fast,  so  fast  that  she  felt  his  heart 
beating  against  her  bowed  head.  But  it  was 
many  seconds  before  he  spoke. 

"Do  you  remember  the  wishing-gate,  Nina?" 
he  said,  speaking  softly.  "And  how  you  asked 
for  a  Deliverer?" 

She  stretched  up  her  arms  to  clasp  his  neck  with 
out  lifting  her  head.  She  was  crying  and  could  not 
answer  him. 


168  Rosa  Mundi 

He  put  his  hand  upon  her  hair  and  she  felt  it 
tremble. 

"Has  the  Deliverer  come  to  you,  dear?"  he 
asked  her  very  tenderly. 

He  felt  for  her  face  in  the  darkness,  and  turned 
it  slowly  upwards.  She  did  not  resist  him  though 
she  knew  well  what  was  coming.  Rather  she 
yielded  to  his  touch  with  a  sudden,  passionate 
willingness.  And  so  their  lips  met  in  the  first  kiss 
that  had  ever  passed  between  them. 

Thus  there  came  a  Deliverer  more  potent  than 
death  into  the  heart  of  the  girl  who  had  married 
for  money,  and  made  its  surrender  sweet. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon 


"An!    She'sorf!" 

A  deafening  blast  came  from  the  great  steam 
ship's  siren,  and  a  long  sigh  went  up  from  the  crowd 
upon  the  quay.  Someone  raised  a  cheer  that  was 
quickly  drowned  in  the  noise  of  escaping  steam. 
Very  slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  the  vessel 
began  to  move. 

A  black  gap  appeared,  and  widened  between  her 
and  the  wharf  till  it  became  a  stretch  of  grey  water 
veiled  in  the  dank  fog  of  a  murky  sea.  The  fog 
was  everywhere,  floating  in  wreaths  upon  the  oily 
swell,  blotting  out  all  distant  objects,  making 
vague  those  that  were  near.  Very  soon  the  crowd 
on  the  shore  was  swallowed  up  and  the  great 
vessel  was  heading  for  the  mouth  of  the  harbour 
and  the  wide  loneliness  beyond. 

Sybil  Denham  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a 
moment  and  shivered.  There  was  something 
terrible  to  her  in  the  thought  of  those  thousands 
of  miles  to  be  traversed  alone.  It  cowed  her.  It 
appalled  her. 

Yet  when  she  looked  up  again  her  eyes  were 
169 


1 7<>  Rosa  Mundi 

brave.  She  stood  committed  now  to  this  great 
step,  and  she  was  resolved  to  take  it  with  a  high 
courage.  Whatever  lay  before  her,  she  must  face 
it  now  without  shrinking.  Yet  it  was  horribly 
lonely.  She  turned  from  the  deck-rail  with  ner 
vous  haste. 

The  next  instant  she  caught  her  foot  against  a 
coil  of  rope  and  fell  headlong,  with  a  violence  that 
almost  stunned  her.  A  moment  she  lay,  then, 
gasping,  began  to  raise  herself. 

But  as  she  struggled  to  her  knees  strong  hands 
lifted  her,  and  a  man's  voice  said  gruffly: 

"Are  you  hurt?" 

She  found  herself  in  the  grasp  of  a  powerful  giant 
with  the  physique  of  a  prize-fighter  and  a  dark 
face  with  lowering  brows  that  seemed  to  wear  an 
habitual  scowl. 

She  was  too  staggered  to  speak;  the  fall  had 
unnerved  her.  She  put  her  hand  vaguely  behind 
her,  feeling  for  the  rail,  looking  up  at  him  with 
piteous,  quivering  lips. 

"You  should  look  where  you  are  going,"  he  said, 
with  scant  sympathy.  ' '  Perhaps  you  will  another 
time." 

She  found  the  rail,  leaned  upon  it,  then  turned 
her  back  upon  him  suddenly  and  burst  into  tears 
which  she  was  too  shaken  to  restrain.  She 
thought  he  would  go  away,  hoped  that  he  would; 
but  he  remained,  standing  in  stolid  silence  till  she 
managed  in  a  measure  to  regain  her  self-control. 

"Where  did  you  hurt  yourself?"  he  asked  then. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon 


She  struggled  with  herself,  and  answered  him. 
"I—  I  am  not  hurt." 

"Then  what  are  you  crying  for?" 

The  words  sounded  more  like  a  rude  retort  than 
a  question. 

She  found  them  unanswerable,  and  suddenly, 
while  she  still  stood  battling  with  her  tears,  some 
thing  in  the  utterance  touched  her  sense  of 
humour.  She  gulped  down  a  sob,  and  gave  a 
little  strangled  laugh. 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  she  said,  drying  her  eyes. 
"Thank  you  for  picking  me  up." 

"I  should  have  tumbled  over  you  if  I  hadn't," 
he  responded. 

Again  her  sense  of  humour  quivered,  finally  dis 
pelling  all  desire  to  cry.  She  turned  a  little. 

"I'm  glad  you  didn't!"  she  said  with  fervour. 

"So  am  I." 

The  curt  rejoinder  cut  clean  through  her  depres 
sion.  She  broke  into  a  gay,  spontaneous  laugh. 

But  the  next  instant  she  checked  herself  and 
apologized. 

"Forgive  me!     I'm  very  rude." 

"What's  the  joke?"  he  asked. 

She  answered  him  in  a  voice  that  still  quivered 
a  little  with  suppressed  merriment. 

"There  isn't  a  joke.  I  —  I  often  laugh  at 
nothing.  It's  a  silly  habit  of  mine." 

His  moody  silence  seemed  to  endorse  this 
remark.  She  became  silent  also,  and  after  a 
moment  made  a  shy  movement  to  depart. 


i72  Rosa  Mundi 

He  turned  then  and  looked  at  her,  looked  full 
and  straight  into  her  small,  sallow  face,  with  its 
shadowy  eyes  and  pointed  features,  as  if  he  would 
register  her  likeness  upon  his  memory . 

She  gave  him  a  faint,  friendly  smile. 

"  I'm  going  below  now, "  she  said.     ' '  Good-bye ! " 

He  raised  his  hat  abruptly.  His  head  was 
massive  as  a  bull's. 

"Mind  how  you  go!"  he  said  briefly. 

And  Sybil  went,  feeling  like  a  child  that  has 
been  rebuked. 


II 


"Do  you  always  walk  along  with  your  eyes 
shut?"  asked  Brett  Mercer. 

Sybil  gave  a  great  start,  and  saw  him  lounging 
immediately  in  her  path.  The  days  that  had 
elapsed  since  their  first  meeting  had  placed  them 
upon  a  more  or  less  intimate  footing.  He  had 
assumed  the  right  to  speak  to  her  from  the  out 
set — this  giant  who  had  picked  her  up  like  an 
infant  and  scolded  her  for  crying. 

It  was  a  hot  morning  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  She 
had  not  slept  during  the  night,  and  she  was  feel 
ing  weary  and  oppressed.  But,  with  a  woman's 
instinctive  reserve,  she  forced  a  hasty  smile.  She 
would  not  have  stopped  to  speak  had  he  not  risen 
and  barred  her  progress. 

"Sit  here!"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  refusal  on  her  lips; 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       173 

but  he  forestalled  her  by  laying  an  immense  hand 
on  her  shoulder  and  pressing  her  down  into  the 
chair  he  had  just  vacated.  This  accomplished, 
he  turned  and  hung  over  the  rail  in  silence.  It 
seemed  to  be  the  man's  habit  at  all  times  to  do 
rather  than  to  speak. 

Sybil  sat  passive,  feeling  rather  helpless,  dumb 
ly  watching  the  great  lounging  figure,  and  won 
dered  how  she  should  escape  without  hurting  his 
feelings. 

Suddenly,  without  turning  his  head,  he  spoke 
to  her. 

"I  suppose  if  I  ask  what's  the  matter  you'll 
tell  me  to  go  to  the  devil." 

The  remark,  though  characteristic,  was  totally 
unexpected.  Sybil  stared  at  him  for  a  moment. 
Then,  as  once  before,  his  rude  address  set  her 
sense  of  humour  a-quivering.  Depressed,  miser 
able  though  she  was,  she  began  to  laugh. 

He  turned,  and  looked  at  her  sideways. 

"No  doubt  I  am  very  funny,"  he  observed 
dryly. 

She  checked  herself  with  an  effort. 

"Oh,  I  know  I'm  horrid  to  laugh.  But  it's  not 
that  I  am  ungrateful.  There  is  nothing  really  the 
matter.  I — I'm  feeling  rather  like  a  stray  cat  this 
morning,  that's  all." 

The  smile  still  lingered  about  her  lips  as  she 
said  it.  Somehow,  telling  this  taciturn  individual 
of  her  trouble  deprived  it  of  much  of  its  bitterness. 

Mercer  displayed  no  sympathy.     He  did  not 


i?4  Rosa  Mundi 

even  continue  to  look  at  her.  But  she  did  not  feel 
that  his  impassivity  arose  from  lack  of  interest. 

Suddenly : 

"Is  it  true  that  you  are  going  to  be  married  as 
soon  as  you  land?"  he  asked. 

Sybil  was  sitting  forward  with  her  chin  in  her 
hands. 

"Quite  true,"  she  said;  adding,  half  to  herself, 
"so  far  as  I  know." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  He  turned 
squarely  and  looked  down  at  her. 

She  hesitated  a  little,  but  eventually  she  told 
him. 

"I  thought  there  would  have  been  a  letter  for 
me  from  Robin  at  Aden,  but  there  wasn't.  It  has 
worried  me  rather." 

"Robin?"  he  said  interrogatively. 

"Robin  Wentworth,  the  man  I  am  going  to 
many,"  she  explained.  "He  has  a  farm  at  Bow- 
ker  Creek,  nearRollandstown.  But  he  will  meet  me 
at  the  docks.  He  has  promised  to  do  that.  Still, 
I  thought  I  should  have  heard  from  him  again." 

"But  you  will  hear  at  Colombo,"  said  Mercer. 

She  raised  her  eyes — those  soft,  dark  eyes  that 
were  her  only  beauty. 

"I  may,"  she  said. 

"And  if  you  don't?" 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  worry  some  more." 

"Are  you  sure  the  fellow  is  worth  it?"  asked 
Mercer  unexpectedly. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       175 

"We  have  been  engaged  for  three  years,"  she 
said,  "though  we  have  been  separated." 

He  frowned. 

"A  man  can  alter  a  good  deal  in  three  years." 

She  did  not  attempt  to  dispute  the  point.  It 
was  one  of  the  many  doubts  that  tormented  her  in 
moments  of  depression. 

"And  what  will  you  do  if  he  doesn't  turn  up?" 
proceeded  Mercer. 

She  gave  a  sharp  shiver. 

"Don't — don't  frighten  me!"  she  said. 

Mercer  was  silent.  He  thrust  one  hand  into 
his  pocket,  and  absently  jingled  some  coins.  He 
began  to  whistle  under  his  breath,  and  then, 
awaking  to  the  fact,  abruptly  stopped  himself. 

"If  I  were  in  your  place,"  he  said  at  length,  "I 
should  get  off  at  Colombo  and  sail  home  again 
on  the  next  boat." 

Sybil  shook  her  head  slowly  but  emphatically. 

"I  am  quite  sure  you  wouldn't.  For  one  thing 
you  would  be  too  poor,  and  for  another  you  would 
be  too  proud." 

"Are  you  very  poor ? "  he  asked  her  point  blank. 

She  nodded. 

' '  And  very  proud . ' ' 

"And  your  people?" 

' '  Only  my  father  is  living,  and  I  have  quarrelled 
with  him." 

' '  Can't  you  make  it  up  ? " 

"No,"  she  said  sharply  and  emphatically.  "I 
could  never  return  to  my  father.  There  is  no 


1 76  Rosa  Mundi 

room  for  me  now  that  he  has  married  again.  I 
would  sooner  sell  matches  at  a  street  corner  than 
go  back  to  what  I  have  left." 

"So  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  Mercer.  He  was 
looking  at  her  very  attentively  with  his  brows 
drawn  down.  "You  are  not  happy  at  home,  so 
you  are  plunging  into  matrimony  to  get  away 
from  it  all." 

"We  have  been  engaged  for  three  years,"  she 
protested,  flushing. 

"You  said  that  before,"  he  remarked.  "It 
seems  to  be  your  only  argument,  and  a  confound 
edly  shaky  one  at  that." 

She  laughed  rather  unsteadily. 

"You  are  not  very  encouraging." 

"No,"  said  Mercer. 

He  was  still  looking  at  her  somewhat  sternly. 
Involuntarily  almost  she  avoided  his  eyes. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  wistfulness, 
"when  you  see  my  fiance  you  will  change  your 
mind." 

He  turned  from  her  with  obvious  impatience. 

"Perhaps  you  will  change  yours,"  he  said. 

And  with  that  surly  rejoinder  of  his  the  con 
versation  ended.  The  next  moment  he  moved 
abruptly  away,  leaving  her  in  possession. 


Ill 


IT  was  early  morning  when  they  came  at  last 
into  port.     When  Sybil  appeared  on   deck  she 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       177 

found  it  crowded  with  excited  men,  and  the 
hubbub  was  deafening.  A  multitude  of  small 
boats  buzzed  to  and  fro  on  the  tumbling  waters 
below  them,  and  she  expected  every  instant  to  see 
one  swamped  as  the  great  ship  floated  majestically 
through  the  throng. 

She  had  anticipated  a  crowd  of  people  on  the 
wharf  to  witness  their  arrival,  but  the  knot  of  men 
gathered  there  scarcely  numbered  a  score.  She 
scanned  them  eagerly,  but  it  took  only  a  very  few 
seconds  to  convince  her  that  Robin  Wentworth 
was  not  among  them.  And  there  had  been  no 
letter  from  him  at  Colombo. 

"They  don't  allow  many  people  on  the  wharf," 
said  Mercer's  voice  behind  her.  "There  will  be 
more  on  the  other  side  of  the  Customs  house." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  bravely  smiling,  though 
her  heart  was  throbbing  almost  to  suffocation  and 
she  could  not  speak  a  word. 

He  passed  on  into  the  crowd  and  she  lost  sight 
of  him. 

There  followed  a  delay  of  nearly  half-an-hour, 
during  which  she  stood  where  she  was  in  the  glar 
ing  sunshine,  dumbly  watching.  The  town,  with 
its  many  buildings,  its  roar  of  traffic ;  the  harbour, 
with  its  ships  and  its  hooting  sirens;  the  hot  sky, 
the  water  that  shone  like  molten  brass;  all  were 
stamped  upon  her  aching  brain  with  nightmare 
distinctness.  She  felt  as  one  caught  in  some 
pitiless  machine  that  would  crush  her  to  atoms 
before  she  could  escape. 


1 78  Rosa  Mundi 

The  gangways  were  fixed  at  last,  and  there  was  a 
general  movement.  She  went  with  the  crowd, 
Mercer's  last  words  still  running  through  her  brain 
with  a  reiteration  that  made  them  almost  mean 
ingless.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Customs  house! 
Of  course,  of  course  she  would  find  Robin  there, 
waiting  for  her ! 

She  said  it  to  herself  over  and  over  as  she  stepped 
ashore,  and  she  began  to  picture  their  meeting. 
And  then,  suddenly,  an  awful  doubt  assailed  her. 
She  could  not  recall  his  features.  His  image 
would  not  rise  before  her.  The  memory  of  his  face 
had  passed  completely  from  her  mind.  It  had 
never  done  so  before,  and  she  was  scared.  But  she 
strove  to  reassure  herself  with  the  thought  that  she 
must  surely  recognize  him  the  moment  her  eyes 
beheld  him.  It  was  but  a  passing  weakness  this, 
born  of  her  agitation.  Of  course,  she  would  know 
him,  and  he  would  know  her,  too,  mightily  though 
she  felt  she  had  changed  during  those  three  years 
that  they  had  not  met. 

She  moved  on  as  one  in  a  dream,  still  with  that 
nightmare  of  oppression  at  her  heart.  The  crowd 
of  hurrying  strangers  bewildered  her.  Her  loneli 
ness  appalled  her.  She  had  an  insane  longing  to 
rush  back  to  her  cabin  and  hide  herself.  But  she 
pressed  on,  on  into  the  Customs  house,  following 
her  little  pile  of  luggage  that  looked  so  ludicrously 
insignificant  among  all  the  rest. 

The  babel  here  was  incessant.  She  felt  as  if 
her  senses  would  leave  her.  Piteously,  like  a  lost 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       179 

child,  she  searched  every  face  within  her  scope  of 
vision;  but  she  searched  in  vain  for  the  face  of  a 
friend. 

Later,  she  found  herself  following  an  official  out 
into  an  open  space  like  a  great  courtyard,  that  was 
crammed  with  vehicles.  He  was  wheeling  her  lug 
gage  on  a  trolley.  Suddenly  he  faced  round  and 
asked  her  whither  she  wanted  to  go. 

She  looked  at  him  helplessly.  "I  am  expecting 
someone  to  meet  me,"  she  said. 

He  stared  at  her  in  some  perplexity,  and  finally 
suggested  that  he  should  set  down  her  luggage  and 
leave  her  to  wait  where  she  was. 

To  this  she  agreed,  and  when  he  had  gone  she 
seated  herself  on  her  cabin  trunk  and  faced  the 
situation.  She  was  utterly  alone,  with  scarcely 
any  money  in  her  possession,  and  no  knowledge 
whatever  of  the  place  in  which  she  found  herself. 
Robin  would,  of  course,  come  sooner  or  later,  but 
till  he  came  she  was  helpless. 

What  should  she  do,  she  wondered  desperately  ? 
What  could  she  do?  All  about  her,  people  were 
coming  and  going.  She  watched  them  dizzily. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  who  seemed  to  be  alone. 
The  heat  and  glare  was  intense.  The  clatter  of 
wheels  sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  roar  of  great 
waters.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  sinking  down,  down 
through  endless  turmoil  into  a  void  unspeakable. 

How  long  she  had  sat  there  she  could  not  have 
said.  It  seemed  to  her  hours  when  someone 
came  up  to  her  with  a  firm  and  purposeful  stride. 


i8o  Rosa  Mundi 

and  stooping,  touched  her  shoulder.  She  looked 
up  dazedly,  and  saw  Brett  Mercer. 

He  said  something  to  her,  but  it  was  as  if  he 
spoke  in  an  unknown  language.  She  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  what  he  meant.  His  face  swam 
before  her  eyes.  She  shook  her  head  at  him 
vaguely,  with  quivering  lips. 

He  stooped  lower.  She  felt  his  arm  encircle  her, 
felt  him  draw  her  to  her  feet.  Again  he  seemed  to 
be  speaking,  but  his  words  eluded  her.  The  roar 
of  the  great  waters  filled  her  brain.  Like  a  lost 
child  she  turned  and  clung  to  the  supporting  arm. 


IV 


LATER,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  senses  must 
have  deserted  her  for  a  time,  for  she  never  remem 
bered  what  happened  to  her  next.  A  multitude 
of  impressions  crowded  upon  her,  but  she  knew 
nothing  with  distinctness  till  she  woke  to  find 
herself  lying  in  a  room  with  green  blinds  half- 
drawn,  with  Mercer  stooping  over  her,  compelling 
her  to  drink  a  nauseating  mixture  in  a  wine-glass. 

As  soon  as  full  consciousness  returned  to  her 
she  refused  to  take  another  drop. 

' '  What  is  it  ?     It— it's  horrible. ' ' 

"It's  the  best  stuff  you  ever  tasted,"  he  told  her 
bluntly.  "You  needn't  get  up.  You  are  all  right 
as  you  are." 

But  she  sat  up,  nevertheless,  and  looked  at  him 
confusedly.  "Where  am  I?"  she  said. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       181 

He  seated  himself  on  the  corner  of  a  table  that 
creaked  loudly  beneath  his  weight.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  he  looked  even  more  massive  than  usual 
— a  bed-rock  of  strength.  His  eyes  met  hers  with 
a  certain  mastery. 

"You  are  in  a  private  room  in  a  private  hotel," 
he  said.  "I  brought  you  here." 

' '  In  a  hotel ! ' '  She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment, 
stricken  silent  by  the  information ;  then  quickly  she 
rose  to  her  feet.  "Oh,  but  I — I  can't  stay!"  she 
said.  "I  have  no  money." 

' '  I  know, ' '  said  Mercer.  He  remained  seated  on 
the  table  edge,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  eyes 
unwaveringly  upon  her.  "That's  where  I  come 
in,"  he  told  her,  with  a  touch  of  aggressiveness,  as 
though  he  sighted  difficulties  ahead.  "I  have 
money — plenty  of  it.  And  you  are  to  make  use 
of  it." 

She  stood  motionless,  gazing  at  him.  His  eyes 
never  left  her.  She  could  not  quite  fathom  his 
look,  but  it  was  undoubtedly  stern. 

"Mr.  Mercer,"  she  said  at  last,  rather  piteously, 
"I — indeed  I  am  grateful  to  you,  much  more  than 
grateful.  But— I  can't ! " 

"Rubbish!"  said  Mercer  curtly.  "If  you 
weren't  a  girl,  I  should  tell  you  not  to  be  a  fool!" 

She  was  clasping  and  unclasping  her  hands.  It 
was  to  be  a  battle  of  wills.  His  rough  speech 
revealed  this  to  her.  And  she  was  ill-equipped  for 
the  conflict.  His  dominant  personality  seemed 
to  deprive  her  of  even  the  desire  to  fight.  She 


1 82  Rosa  Mundi 

remembered,  with  a  sudden,  burning  flush,  that  she 
had  clung  to  him  only  a  little  while  before  in  her 
extremity  of  loneliness.  Doubtless  he  remembered 
it  too. 

Yet  she  braced  herself  for  the  struggle.  He 
could  not,  after  all,  compel  her  to  accept  his 
generosity. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said;  "I  am  very  sorry.  But, 
you  know,  there  is  another  way  in  which  you  can 
help  me." 

"What  is  that?"  said  Mercer. 

"If  you  could  tell  me  of  some  respectable  lodg 
ing,"  she  said.  "I  have  enough  for  one  night  if 
the  charges  are  moderate.  And  even  after  that — 
if  Robin  doesn't  come — I  have  one  or  two  little 
things  I  might  sell.  He  is  sure  to  come  soon." 

"And  if  he  doesn't?"  said  Mercer. 

Her  fingers  gripped  each  other. 

"I  am  sure  he  will,"  she  said. 

"And  if  he  doesn't?"  said  Mercer  again. 

His  persistence  became  suddenly  intolerable. 
She  turned  on  him  with  something  like  anger — the 
anger  of  desperation. 

"Why  will  you  persist  in  trying  to  frighten  me? 
I  know  he  will  come.  I  know  he  will ! ' ' 

"You  don't  know,"  said  Mercer.  "I  am  not 
frightening  you.  You  were  afraid  before  you  ever 
spoke  to  me." 

He  spoke  harshly,  without  pity,  and  still  his 
eyes  dwelt  resolutely  upon  her.  He  seemed  to  be 
watching  her  narrowly. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       183 

She  did  not  attempt  to  deny  his  last  words. 
She  passed  them  by. 

' '  I  shall  write  to  Bowker  Creek.  He  may  have 
mistaken  the  date." 

"He  may,"  said  Mercer,  in  a  tone  she  did  not 
understand.  "But,  in  the  meantime,  why  should 
you  turn  your  back  upon  the  only  friend  you  have 
at  hand?  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  making  a 
fuss  over  nothing.  You  have  been  brought  up  to 
it,  I  daresay;  but  it  isn't  the  fashion  here.  We 
are  taught  to  take  things  as  they  come,  and  make 
the  best  of  'em.  That's  what  you  have  got  to  do. 
It'll  come  easier  after  a  bit." 

"It  will  never  come  easily  to  me  to — to  live  on 
charity,"  she  protested,  rather  incoherently. 

"But  you  can  pay  me  back,"  said  Brett  Mercer. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  if— if  Robin- 

"I  tell  you,  you  can!"  he  insisted  stubbornly. 

"How?"  She  turned  suddenly  and  faced  him. 
There  was  a  hint  of  defiance,  or,  rather,  daring, 
in  her  manner.  She  met  his  look  with  unswerving 
resolution.  ' '  If  there  is  a  good  chance  of  my  being 
able  to  do  that,"  she  said,  "even  if — even  if  Robin 
fails  me,  I  will  accept  your  help." 

"You  will  be  able  to  do  it,"  said  Mercer. 

"How?"  she  asked  again. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  he  said,  "when  you  are  quite 
sure  that  Robin  has  failed  you." 

"Tell  me  now!"  she  pleaded.  "If  it  is  some 
work  that  you  can  find  for  me  to  do — and  I  will  do 


1 84  Rosa  Mundi 

anything  in  the  world  that  I  can — it  would  be  such 
a  help  to  me  to  know  of  it.  Won't  you  tell  me 
what  you  mean  ?  Please  do ! " 

"No,"  said  Mercer.  "It  is  only  a  chance,  and 
you  may  refuse  it.  I  can't  say.  You  may  feel 
it  too  much  for  you  to  attempt.  If  you  do,  you 
will  have  to  endure  the  obligation.  But  you  shall 
have  the  chance  of  paying  me  back  if  you  really 
want  it." 

"And  you  won't  tell  me  what  it  is? "  she  said. 

"No."  He  got  to  his  feet,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  her.  "I  can't  tell  you  now.  I  am  not 
in  a  position  to  do  so.  I  am  going  away  for  a  few 
days.  You  will  wait  here  till  I  come  back?" 

"Unless  Robin  comes,"  she  said.  "And  then, 
of  course,  I  would  leave  you  a  message." 

He  nodded. 

"Otherwise  you  will  stay  here?" 

"If  you  are  sure  you  wish  it,"  she  said. 

"I  do.  And  I  am  going  to  leave  you  this." 
He  laid  a  packet  upon  the  table.  "  It  is  better  for 
you  to  be  independent,  for  the  sake  of  appear 
ances."  His  iron  mouth  twitched  a  little.  ' '  Now, 
good-bye!  You  won't  be  more  miserable  than 
you  can  help?" 

She  smiled  up  at  him  bravely. 

' '  No ;  I  won't  be  miserable.  How  long  shall  you 
be  gone?" 

"Possibly  a  week,  possibly  a  little  more." 

"But  you  will  come  back?"  she  said  quickly, 
almost  beseechingly. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       185 

"I  shall  certainly  come  back,"  he  said. 

With  the  words  his  great  hand  closed  firmly  upon 
hers,  and  she  had  a  curious,  vagrant  feeling  of 
insecurity  that  she  could  not  attempt  to  analyse. 
Then  abruptly  he  let  her  go.  An  instant  his  eyes 
still  held  her,  and  then,  before  she  could  begin  to 
thank  him,  he  turned  to  the  door  and  was  gone. 


FOR  ten  days,  that  seemed  to  her  like  as  many 
years,  Sybil  Denham  waited  in  the  shelter  into 
which  she  had  been  so  relentlessly  thrust  for  an 
answer  to  her  letter  to  Bowker  Creek,  and  during 
the  whole  of  that  time  she  lived  apart,  exchanging 
scarcely  a  word  with  any  one.  Every  day,  gener 
ally  twice  a  day,  she  went  down  to  the  wharf;  but, 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  linger.  The  loneli 
ness  that  perpetually  dogged  her  footsteps  was 
almost  poignant  there,  and  sometimes  she  came 
away  with  panic  at  her  heart.  Suppose  Mercer 
also  should  forsake  her !  She  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  what  she  would  do  if  he  did.  And  yet,  when 
ever  she  contemplated  his  return,  she  was  afraid. 
There  was  something  about  the  man  that  she  had 
never  fathomed — something  ungovernable,  some 
thing  brutal — from  which  instinctively  she  shrank. 

On  the  evening  of  the  tenth  day  she  received  her 
answer — a  letter  from  Rollandstown  by  post. 
The  handwriting  she  knew  so  well  sprawled  over 
the  envelope  which  her  trembling  fingers  could 


1 86  Rosa  Mundi 

scarcely  open.  Relief  was  her  first  sensation,  and 
after  it  came  a  nameless  anxiety.  Why  had  he 
written?  How  was  it — how  was  it  that  he  had  not 
come  to  her? 

Trembling  all  over,  she  unfolded  the  letter,  and 
read: 

"DEAR  SYBIL, — I  am  infernally  sorry  to  have 
brought  you  out  for  nothing,  for  I  find  that  I 
cannot  marry  you  after  all.  Things  have  gone 
wrong  with  me  of  late,  and  it  would  be  downright 
folly  for  me  to  think  of  matrimony  under  existing 
circumstances.  I  am  leaving  this  place  almost  at 
once,  so  there  is  no  chance  of  hearing  from  you 
again.  I  hope  you  will  get  on  all  right.  Anyhow, 
you  are  well  rid  of  me. — Yours, 

"  ROBIN." 

Beneath  the  signature,  scribbled  very  faintly, 
were  the  words,  "I'm  sorry,  old  girl;  I'm  son*}'." 

She  read  the  letter  once,  and  once  only;  but 
every  word  stamped  itself  indelibly  upon  her 
memory,  every  word  bit  its  way  into  her  con 
sciousness  as  though  it  had  been  scored  upon  her 
quivering  flesh.  Robin  had  failed  her.  That 
ghastly  presentiment  of  hers  had  come  true.  She 
was  alone — alone,  and  sinking  in  that  awful  whirl 
pool  of  desolation  into  which  for  so  long  she  had 
felt  herself  being  drawn.  The  great  waters  swirled 
around  her,  rising  higher,  ever  higher.  And  she 
was  alone. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       187 

Hours  passed.  She  sat  in  a  sort  of  trance  of 
horror,  Robin's  letter  spread  out  beneath  her 
nerveless  fingers.  She  did  not  ask  herself  what 
she  should  do.  The  blow  had  stunned  all  her 
faculties.  She  could  only  sit  there  face  to  face 
with  despair,  staring  blind-eyed  before  her, 
motionless,  cold  as  marble  to  the  very  heart  of  her. 
She  fancied — she  even  numbly  hoped — that  she 
was  going  to  die. 

She  never  heard  repeated  knocking  at  her  door, 
or  remembered  that  it  was  locked,  till  a  man's 
shoulder  burst  it  open.  Then,  indeed,  she  turned 
stiffly  and  looked  at  the  intruder. 

"You!  "she  said. 

She  had  forgotten  Brett  Mercer. 

He  came  forward  quickly,  stooped  and  looked  at 
her;  then  went  down  on  his  knee  and  thrust  his 
arm  about  her. 

She  sat  upright  in  his  hold,  not  yielding  an  inch, 
not  looking  at  him.  Her  eyes  were  glassy. 

For  a  little  he  held  her;  then  gently  but  insist 
ently  he  drew  her  to  him,  pillowed  her  head  against 
him,  and  began  to  rub  her  icy  cheek. 

''I've  left  you  alone  too  long,"  he  said. 

She  suffered  him  dumbly,  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  did.  But  presently  the  blood  that 
seemed  to  have  frozen  in  her  veins  began  to 
circulate  again,  and  the  stiffness  passed  from 
her  limbs.  She  stirred  in  his  hold  like  a  fright 
ened  bird. 

"I'm  sorry!"  she  faltered. 


1 88  Rosa  Mundi 

He  let  her  draw  away  from  him,  but  he  kept  his 
arm  about  her.  She  looked  at  him,  and  found  him 
intently  watching  her.  Her  eyes  fell,  and  rested 
upon  the  letter  which  lay  crumpled  under  her 
hands. 

"A  dreadful  thing  has  happened  to  me,"  she 
said.  ' '  Robin  has  written  to  say — to  say — that  he 
cannot  marry  me!" 

"What  is  there  dreadful  in  that?"  said  Mercer. 

She  did  not  look  up,  though  his  words  startled 
her  a  little. 

"It — has  made  me  feel  like — like  a  stray  cat 
again,"  she  said,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile  about 
her  lips.  "Of  course,  I  know  I'm  foolish.  There 
must  be  plenty  of  ways  in  which  a  woman  can 
earn  her  living  here.  You  yourself  were  thinking 
of  something  that  I  might  do,  weren't  you? " 

"I  was,"  said  Mercer.  He  laid  his  great  hand 
upon  hers,  paused  a  moment,  then  deliberately 
drew  her  letter  from  beneath  them  and  crushed 
it  into  a  ball.  "But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  some 
thing  before  we  go  into  that.  The  truth,  mind! 
It  must  be  the  truth!" 

"Yes?"  she  questioned,  with  her  head  bent. 

"You  must  look  at  me,"  he  said,  "or  I  shan't 
believe  you." 

There  was  something  Napoleonic  about  his 
words  which  placed  them  wholly  beyond  the 
sphere  of  offensiveness.  Slowly  she  turned  her 
head  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

He  took  his  arm  abruptly  away  from  her. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       189 

"Heavens!"  he  said.  "How  miserable  you 
look !  Are  you  very  miserable  ? ' ' 

"I'm  not  very  happy,"  she  said. 

"But  you  always  smile,"  he  said,  "even  when 
you're  crying.  Ah,  that's  better!  I  scarcely 
knew  you  before.  Now,  tell  me!  Were  you  in 
love  with  the  fellow? " 

She  shrank  a  little  at  the  direct  question.  He 
put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  His  touch  was 
imperious. 

"Just  a  straight  answer!"  he  said.  "Were 
you?" 

She  hesitated,  longing  yet  fearing  to  lower  her 
eyes. 

"I — I  don't  quite  know,"  she  said  at  length. 
"I  used  to  think  so." 

"You  haven't  thought  so  of  late?"  His  eyes 
searched  hers  unsparingly,  with  stern  insistence. 

"I  haven't  been  sure,"  she  admitted. 

He  released  her  and  rose. 

"You  won't  regret  him  for  long,"  he  said.  "In 
fact,  you'll  live  to  be  glad  that  you  didn't  have 
him!" 

She  did  not  contradict  him.  He  was  too  posi 
tive  for  that.  She  watched  him  cross  the  room 
with  a  certain  arrogance,  and  close  the  half-open 
door.  As  he  returned  she  stood  up. 

"Can  we  get  to  business  now?"  she  said. 

"Business?"  said  Mercer. 

With  a  steadiness  that  she  found  somewhat 
difficult  of  accomplishment  she  made  reply: 


190  Rosa  Mundi 

' '  You  thought  you  could  find  me  employment- 
some  means  by  which  I  could  pay  you  back." 

"  You  .still  want  to  pay  me  back? "  he  said. 

She  glanced  up  half  nervously. 

"I  know  that  I  can  never  repay  your  kindness 
to  me,"  she  said.  "So  far  as  that  goes,  I  am  in 
your  debt  for  always.  But — the  money  part  I 
must  and  will,  somehow,  return." 

' '  Being  the  most  important  part  ? "  he  suggested , 
halting  in  front  of  her. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  imply  that,"  she  answered. 
"I  think  you  know  which  I  put  first.  But  I  can 
only  do  what  I  can,  and  money  is  repayable." 

"So  is  kindness,"  said  Mercer. 

Again  shyly  she  glanced  at  him. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand." 

He  sat  down  once  more  upon  the  table  edge  to 
bring  his  eyes  on  a  level  with  hers. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  scared  about,"  he  said. 

She  smiled  a  little. 

"Oh,  no;  I  am  not  scared.  I  believe  you  think 
me  even  more  foolish  than  I  actually  am." 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Mercer.  "If  I  did,  I 
shouldn't  say  what  I  am  going  to  say.  As  it  is, 
you  are  not  to  answer  till  you  have  counted  up  to 
fifty.  Is  that  a  bargain  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  she  said,  beginning  to  feel  more  curious 
than  afraid. 

"Here  goes  then,"  said  Brett  Mercer.  "I  want 
a  wife,  and  I  want  you.  Will  you  marry  me? 
Now,  shut  your  eyes  and  count!" 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon 


But  Sybil  disobeyed  him.  She  opened  her  eyes 
wide,  and  stared  at  him  in  breathless  amazement. 

Mercer  stared  back  with  absolute  composure. 

"I'm  in  dead  earnest,"  he  told  her.  "Never 
made  a  joke  in  my  life.  Of  course,  you'll  refuse 
me.  I  know  that.  But  I  shan't  give  you  up  if 
you  do.  If  you  don't  marry  me,  you  won't  marry 
any  one  else,  for  I'll  lick  any  other  man  off  the 
ground.  I  come  first  with  you  now,  and  I  mean 
to  stay  first." 

He  stopped,  for  amazement  had  given  place  to 
something  else  on  her  face.  She  looked  at  him 
queerly,  as  if  irresolute  for  a  few  seconds;  but  she 
no  longer  shrank  from  meeting  his  eyes.  And 
then  quite  suddenly  she  broke  into  her  funny  little 
laugh. 

"Amusing,  is  it?"  he  said. 

She  turned  sharply  away,  with  one  hand  pressed 
to  her  mouth,  obviously  struggling  with  herself. 

At  last: 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  she  said.  "I  didn't  mean  to 
laugh  really  —  really.  Only  you  —  you're  such  a 
monster,  and  Fm  such  a  shrimp!  Please  don't 
be  vexed  with  me!' 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  without  turning. 

He  did  not  take  it  at  once.  When  he  did,  he 
drew  her  round  to  face  him.  There  was  an  odd 
restraint  about  the  action,  determined  though  it 
was. 

"Well?"  he  said  gruffly.  "Which  is  it  to  be? 
Am  I  to  go  to  the  devil,  or  stay  with  you?" 


i92  Rosa  Mundi 

She  looked  down  at  the  great  hand  that  held  her. 
She  was  still  half  laughing,  though  her  lips 
quivered. 

"I  couldn't  possibly  marry  you  yet,"  she  said. 

"No.     To-morrow!"  said  Mercer. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Not  even  then." 

' '  Listen ! "  he  said.  ' '  If  you  won't  marry  me  at 
once  you  will  have  to  come  with  me  without. 
For  I  am  going  up-country  to  see  my  farms,  and  I 
don't  mean  to  leave  you  here." 

"Can't  I  wait  till  you  come  back?"  she  said. 

"What  for?" 

He  leaned  forward  a  little,  trying  to  peer  under 
her  drooping  lids.  She  was  trembling  slightly. 

' '  I  think  you  forget, "  she  said,  ' '  that — that  we 
hardly  know  each  other." 

' '  How  are  we  to  get  any  nearer  if  I'm  up-country 
and  you're  here?"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him  unwillingly. 

"You  may  change  your  mind  when  you  have  had 
time  to  think  it  over,"  she  said,  colouring  deeply. 

"I'll  take  the  risk,"  said  Mercer.  "Besides"— 
she  saw  his  grim  smile  for  an  instant— "I've  been 
thinking  of  nothing  else  since  I  met  you." 

She  started  a  little. 

"I— I  had  no  idea." 

"No,"  he  said;  "I  saw  that.  You  needn't  be 
afraid  of  me  on  that  account.  It  ought  to  have 
the  opposite  effect." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  she  said,  with  a  certain 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       193 

dignity.     "But  I,  too,  should  have  time  for  con 
sideration." 

"A  woman  doesn't  need  it,"  he  asserted.  "She 
can  make  up  her  mind  at  a  moment's  notice." 

"And  is  often  sorry  for  ever  afterwards,"  she 
said  smiling  faintly. 

He  thrust  out  his  jaw,  as  if  challenging  her. 

"You  think  I  shall  make  you  sorry?" 

"No,"  she  answered.  "But  I  want  to  be  quite 
sure." 

"Which  is  another  reason  for  marrying  me 
to-morrow,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  let  you 
wait.  It's  only  a  whim.  You  weren't  created  to 
live  alone,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should. 
I  am  here,  and  you  will  have  to  take  me." 

"Whether  I  want  to  or  not?"  she  said. 

"Don't  you  want  to?"  he  questioned. 

She  was  silent. 

He  lifted  the  hand  he  held  and  looked  at  it. 
He  spanned  her  wrist  with  his  finger  and  thumb. 

"That's  reason  enough  for  me,"  he  abruptly 
said.  "You  are  nothing  but  skin  and  bone. 
You've  been  starving  yourself." 

"I  haven't,"  she  protested.  "I  haven't, 
indeed." 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  he  retorted  rudely. 
"You  weren't  such  a  skeleton  as  this  when  I  saw 
you  last.  Come,  what's  the  good  of  fighting? 
You'll  have  to  give  in." 

She  smiled  again  faintly  at  the  rough  persuasion 
in  his  voice,  but  still  she  hesitated. 
13 


194  Rosa  Mundi 

"I  shan't  eat  you,  you  know,"  he  proceeded, 
pressing  his  advantage.  "I  shan't  do  anything 
you  won't  like." 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly. 

"You  mean  that?" 

His  eyes  looked  straight  back  at  her. 

"Yes,  I  mean  it." 

' '  Can  I  trust  you  ? ' '  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

He  rose  to  his  full  height,  and  stood  before  her. 
And  in  that  moment  an  odd  little  thrill  went 
through  her.  He  was  magnificent — the  finest  man 
she  had  ever  seen.  She  caught  her  breath  a  little, 
feeling  awed  before  the  immensity  of  his  strength. 
But,  very  curiously,  she  no  longer  felt  afraid. 

"You  must  ask  yourself  that  question,"  he  said 
bluntly.  "You  have  my  word." 

And  with  a  gasp  she  let  herself  go  at  last. 

"I  will  take  you  on  trust,"  she  said. 


VI 


WHEN  Sybil  at  length  travelled  up-country 
with  her  husband  the  shearing  season  had  already 
commenced.  They  went  by  easy  stages,  for  the 
heat  was  great,  and  she  was  far  from  strong. 
She  knew  that  Mercer  was  anxious  to  reach  his 
property,  and  she  would  have  journeyed  more 
rapidly  if  he  would  have  permitted  it,  but  upon  this 
point  he  was  firm.  At  every  turn  he  considered 
her,  and  she  marvelled  at  the  intuition  with  which 
he  divined  her  unspoken  wishes.  Curt  and  rough 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon        195 

though  he  was,  his  care  surrounded  her  in  a  magic 
circle  within  which  she  dwelt  at  ease.  With  all  his 
imperiousness  she  did  not  find  him  domineering, 
and  this  fact  was  a  constant  marvel  to  her,  for  she 
knew  the  mastery  of  his  will.  By  some  mysterious 
power  he  curbed  himself,  and  day  by  day  her 
confidence  in  him  grew. 

They  accomplished  the  greater  part  of  the 
journey  by  rail,  and  then  when  the  railway  ended 
came  the  long,  long  ride.  They  travelled  for  five 
days,  spending  each  night  at  an  inn  at  some 
township  upon  the  road.  Through  dense  stretches 
of  forest,  through  great  tracts  of  waste  country, 
and  again  through  miles  of  parched  pasture-land 
they  rode,  and  during  the  whole  of  that  journey 
Mercer's  care  never  relaxed.  She  never  found 
him  communicative.  He  would  ride  for  hours 
without  uttering  a  word,  but  yet  she  was  subtly 
conscious  of  his  close  attention.  She  knew  that 
she  was  never  out  of  his  thoughts. 

At  the  inns  at  which  they  rested  he  always 
saw  himself  to  her  comfort,  and  the  best  room 
was  always  placed  at  her  disposal.  One  thing 
impressed  her  at  every  halt.  The  innkeepers  one 
and  all  stood  in  awe  of  him.  Not  one  of  them 
welcomed  him,  but  not  one  of  them  failed  to 
attend  with  alacrity  to  his  wants.  It  puzzled 
her,  for  she  herself  had  never  found  him  really 
formidable. 

On  the  last  morning  of  their  ride,  when  they  set 
forth,  she  surprised  a  look  of  deep  compassion  in 


196  Rosa  Mundi 

the  eyes  of  the  innkeeper's  wife  as  she  said  good 
bye,  and  it  gave  her  something  of  a  shock.  Why 
was  the  woman  sorry  for  her?  Had  she  heard  her 
story  by  any  strange  chance?  Or  was  it  for  some 
other  reason?  It  left  an  unpleasant  impression 
upon  her.  She  wished  she  had  not  seen  it. 

They  rode  that  day  almost  exclusively  through 
Mercer's  property,  which  extended  for  many 
miles.  He  was  the  owner  of  several  farms,  two  of 
which  they  passed  without  drawing  rein.  He  was 
taking  her  to  what  he  called  the  Home  Farm,  his 
native  place,  which  he  still  made  his  headquarters, 
and  from  which  he  overlooked  the  whole  of  his 
great  property. 

The  brief  twilight  had  turned  to  darkness  before 
they  reached  it.  During  the  last  half  hour  Mercer 
rode  with  his  hand  upon  Sybil's  bridle,  and  she  was 
glad  to  have  it  there.  She  was  not  accustomed  to 
riding  in  the  dark.  Moreover,  she  was  very  tired, 
and  when  at  last  they  turned  in  through  an  open 
gateway  to  one  side  of  which  a  solitary  lantern 
had  been  fixed,  she  breathed  a  deep  sigh  of  thank 
fulness. 

She  saw  the  outline  of  the  house  but  vaguely, 
but  in  two  windows  lights  were  burning,  and  as 
they  clattered  up  a  door  was  thrown  open,  and  a 
man  stood  silhouetted  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold. 

"Hullo,  Curtis!  Here  we  are!"  was  Mercer's 
greeting.  "Later  than  I  intended,  but  it's  a  far 
cry  from  Wallarroo,  and  we  had  to  take  it  easy." 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       197 

"The  best  way,"  the  other  said. 

He  went  forward  and  quietly  helped  Sybil  to 
dismount.  He  did  not  speak  to  her  as  he  did  so, 
and  she  wondered  a  little  at  the  reserve  of  his 
manner.  But  the  next  moment  she  forgot  him 
at  the  sight  of  a  hideous  young  negro  who  had 
suddenly  appeared  at  the  horses'  heads. 

"It's  only  Beelzebub,"  said  the  man  at  her  side, 
in  a  tired  voice,  as  if  it  were  an  effort  to  speak  at  all. 

She  realized  that  the  explanation  was  intended 
to  be  reassuring,  and  laughed  rather  tremulously. 
Finding  Mercer  at  her  side  she  slipped  her  hand 
into  his. 

He  gave  it  a  terrific  squeeze.  "Come  inside!" 
he  said.  "You  are  tired." 

They  went  in,  Curtis  following. 

In  a  room  with  a  sanded  floor  that  looked 
pleasantly  homely  to  her  English  eyes  a  meal  was 
spread.  The  place  and  everything  it  contained 
shone  in  the  lamplight.  She  looked  around  her 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  notwithstanding  her 
weariness.  And  then  her  eyes  fell  upon  Curtis, 
and  found  his  fixed  upon  her. 

He  averted  them  instantly,  but  she  had  read 
their  expression  at  a  glance — surprise  and  com 
passion — and  her  heart  gave  a  curious  little  throb 
of  dismay. 

She  turned  nevertheless  without  a  pause  to 
Mercer. 

"Won't  you  introduce  me  to  your  friend?"  she 
said. 


198  Rosa  Mundi 

"What?"  said  Mercer.  "Oh,  that's  Curtis,  my 
foreman.  Curtis,  this  is  my  wife." 

Curtis  bowed  stiffly,  but  Sybil  held  out  her  hand. 

' '  How  nice  everything  looks ! "  she  said.  ' '  I  am 
sure  we  have  you  to  thank  for  it." 

"Beelzebub  and  me,"  he  said;  and  again  she 
was  struck  by  the  utter  lack  of  animation  in  his 
voice. 

He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  lean  and  brown, 
with  an  unmistakable  air  of  breeding  about  him 
that  put  her  at  her  ease  at  once.  His  quiet  man 
ner  was  a  supreme  contrast  to  Mercer's  roughness. 
She  was  quite  sure  that  he  was  not  colonial  born. 

He  sat  at  table  with  them,  and  waited  also,  but 
he  did  not  utter  a  word  except  now  and  again  in 
answer  to  some  brief  query  from  Mercer.  When 
the  meal  was  over  he  cleared  the  table  and  dis 
appeared. 

She  looked  at  Mercer  in  some  surprise  as  the 
door  closed  upon  him. 

"He's  a  useful  chap,"  Mercer  said.  "I'm  sorry 
there  isn't  a  woman  in  the  house,  but  you'll  find 
Beelzebub  better  than  a  dozen.  And  this  fellow  is 
always  at  hand  for  anything  you  may  want  in  the 
evening." 

"He  is  a  gentleman,"  she  said  almost  involun 
tarily. 

Mercer  looked  at  her. 

"Do  you  object  to  having  a  gentleman  to  wait 
on  you?"  he  asked  curtly. 

She  did  not  quite  understand  his  tone,  but  she 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       199 

was  very  far  just  then  from  understanding  the  man 
himself.  His  question  demanded  no  answer,  and 
she  gave  none. 

After  a  moment  she  got  up,  and,  conscious  of 
an  oppression  in  the  atmosphere,  took  off  her  hat 
and  pushed  back  the  hair  from  her  face.  She  knew 
that  Mercer  was  watching  her,  felt  his  eyes  upon 
her,  and  wished  intensely  that  he  would  speak, 
but  he  did  not  utter  a  word.  There  seemed  to  her 
to  be  something  stubborn  in  his  silence,  and  it 
affected  her  strangely. 

For  a  while  she  stood  also  silent,  then  suddenly 
with  a  little  smile  she  looked  across  at  him. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  show  me  everything?"  she 
said. 

' '  Not  to-night, ' '  he  said.  ' '  I  will  show  you  your 
bedroom  if  you  are  too  tired  to  stay  up  any 
longer." 

She  considered  the  matter  for  a  few  seconds, 
then  quietly  crossed  the  room  to  his  side.  She 
laid  a  hand  that  trembled  slightly  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  she  said. 

He  stiffened  at  her  touch. 

"You  had  better  go  to  bed,"  he  said  gruffly,  and 
made  as  if  he  would  rise. 

But  she  checked  him  with  a  dignity  all  her  own. 

"Wait,  please;  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"Not  to  thank  me,  I  hope,"  he  said. 

"No,  not  to  thank  you."  She  paused  an 
instant,  and  seemed  to  hesitate.  "I — I  really 
want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  said  at  length. 


200  Rosa  Mundi 

He  reached  up  and  removed  her  hand  from  his 
shoulder. 

"Well?"  he  questioned. 

"Don't  hold  me  at  arms'  length!"  she  pleaded 
gently.  "It  makes  things  so  difficult." 

"What  is  it  you  want  to  know?"  he  asked  with 
out  relaxing. 

She  stood  silent  for  a  few  seconds  as  if  summon 
ing  all  her  courage.  Then  at  length,  her  voice 
very  low,  she  spoke. 

"When  you  said  that  you  wanted  me  for  your 
wife,  did  you  mean  that  you — loved  me?" 

He  made  an  abrupt  movement,  and  his  fingers 
closed  tightly  upon  her  wrist.  For  a  moment  or 
more  he  sat  in  tense  silence,  then  he  got  to  his 
feet. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  he  demanded 
harshly. 

She  stood  before  him  with  bent  head. 

"Because,"  she  said,  and  there  was  a  piteous 
quiver  in  her  voice,  "I  am  lonely,  and  I  have  a 
very  empty  heart.  And — and — if  you  love  me  it 
will  not  frighten  me  to  know  it.  It  will  only- 
make  me — glad." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Do  you 
know  what  you  are  saying?"  he  questioned. 

"Yes,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  persisted. 

She  raised  her  head  impulsively,  and,  with  a 
gesture  most  winning,  most  confident,  she  stretched 
up  her  arms  to  him. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       201 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  mean  it!  I  mean  it!  I 
want — to  be  loved!" 

His  arms  were  close  about  her  as  she  ended,  and 
she  uttered  the  last  words  chokingly  with  her  face 
against  his  breast.  The  effort  had  cost  her  all  her 
strength,  and  she  clung  to  him  panting,  almost 
fainting,  while  panic — wild,  unreasoning  panic- 
swept  over  her.  What  was  this  man  to  whom  she 
had  thus  impulsively  given  herself — this  man  whom 
all  men  feared  ? 

Nevertheless,  she  grew  calmer  at  last,  awak 
ing  to  the  fact  that  though  his  hold  was  tense 
and  passionate,  he  still  retained  his  self-control. 
She  commanded  herself,  and  turned  her  face  up 
wards. 

"Then  you  do  love  me?"  she  said  tremulously. 

His  eyes  shone  into  hers,  red  as  the  inner, 
intolerable  glow  of  a  furnace.  He  did  not  attempt 
to  make  reply  in  words.  He  seemed  at  that  mo 
ment  incapable  of  speech.  He  only  bent  and 
kissed  her  fiercely,  burningly,  even  brutally,  upon 
the  lips.  And  so  she  had  her  answer. 


VII 


IT  was  a  curious  establishment  over  which 
Sybil  found  herself  called  upon  to  preside.  The 
native,  Beelzebub,  was  her  only  domestic,  and,  as 
Mercer  had  predicted,  she  found  him  very  willing 
if  not  always  efficient.  One  thing  she  speedily 
discovered  regarding  him.  He  went  in  deadly  fear 


202  Rosa  Mundi 

of  his  master,  and  invariably  crept  about  like  a 
whipped  cur  in  his  presence. 

"Why  is  it?"  she  said  to  Curtis  once. 

But  Curtis  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  reply. 

He  was  a  continual  puzzle  to  her,  this  man. 
There  was  no  servility  about  him,  but  she  had  a 
feeling  that  he,  too,  was  in  some  fashion  under 
Mercer's  heel.  He  made  himself  exceedingly  use 
ful  to  her  in  his  silent,  unobtrusive  way;  but  he 
seldom  spoke  on  his  own  initiative,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  she  felt  herself  to  be  on  terms  of 
intimacy  with  him.  He  was  an  excellent  cook; 
and  he  and  Beelzebub  between  them  made  her 
duties  remarkably  light.  In  fact,  she  spent  most 
of  her  time  riding  with  her  husband,  who  was  fully 
occupied  just  then  in  overlooking  the  shearers' 
work.  She  also  was  keenly  interested,  but  he 
never  suffered  her  to  go  among  the  men.  Once, 
when  she  had  grown  tired  of  waiting  for  him,  and 
followed  him  into  one  of  the  sheds,  he  was  actually 
angry  with  her — a  new  experience,  which,  if  it  did 
not  seriously  scare  her,  made  her  nervous  in  his 
presence  for  some  time  afterwards. 

She  had  come  to  regard  him  as  a  man  whose  will 
was  bound  to  be  respected,  a  man  who  possessed 
the  power  of  impressing  his  personality  indelibly 
upon  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact.  There 
were  times  when  he  touched  and  set  vibrating  the 
very  pulse  of  her  being,  times  when  her  heart 
quivered  and  expanded  in  the  heat  of  his  passion 
as  a  flower  that  opens  to  the  sun.  But  there  were 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       203 

also  times  when  he  filled  her  with  a  nameless 
dread,  when  the  very  foundations  of  her  confidence 
were  shaken,  and  she  felt  as  a  prisoner  behind  iron 
bars.  She  did  not  know  him,  that  was  her  trouble. 
There  were  in  him  depths  that  she  could  not  reach, 
could  scarcely  even  realize.  He  was  slow  to  reveal 
himself  to  her,  and  she  had  but  the  vaguest  indi 
cations  to  guide  her.  She  even  felt  sometimes 
that  he  deliberately  kept  back  from  her  that  which 
she  felt  to  be  almost  the  essential  part  of  him. 
This  she  knew  that  time  must  remedy.  Living 
his  life,  she  was  bound  ultimately  to  know  whereof 
he  was  made,  and  she  tried  to  assure  herself  that 
when  that  knowledge  came  to  her  she  would  not 
be  dismayed.  And  yet  she  had  occasional 
glimpses  of  him  that  made  her  tremble. 

One  evening,  after  they  had  spent  the  entire 
day  in  the  saddle,  he  went  after  supper  to  look  at 
one  of  the  horses  that  was  suffering  from  a  cracked 
hock.  Curtis  was  busy  in  the  kitchen,  and  Sybil 
betook  herself  to  the  step  to  wait  for  her  husband. 
She  often  sat  in  the  starlight  while  he  smoked  his 
pipe.  She  knew  that  he  liked  to  have  her  there. 

She  was  drowsy  after  her  long  exercise,  and  must 
have  dozed  with  her  head  against  the  door-post, 
when  suddenly  she  became  conscious  of  a  curious 
sound.  It  came  from  the  direction  of  the  stable 
which  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  house.  But 
for  the  absolute  stillness  of  the  night  she  would 
not  have  heard  it.  She  started  upright  in  alarm, 
and  listened  intently. 


204  Rosa  Mundi 

It  came  again — a  terrible  wailing,  unlike  any 
thing  she  had  ever  heard,  ending  in  a  staccato 
shriek  that  made  her  blood  run  cold. 

She  sprang  up  and  turned  into  the  house,  almost 
running  into  Curtis,  who  had  just  appeared  in  the 
passage  behind  her. 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  she  cried.  "What  is 
it?  Something  terrible  is  happening!  Did  you 
hear?" 

She  would  have  turned  into  the  kitchen,  that 
being  the  shortest  route  to  the  stable,  but  he 
stretched  an  arm  in  front  of  her. 

"I  shouldn't  go  if  I  were  you,"  he  said.  "You 
can't  do  any  good." 

She  stood  and  stared  at  him,  a  ghastly  fear 
clutching  her  heart.  "What — what  do  you 
mean?"  she  gasped. 

"It's  only  Beelzebub,"  he  said,  "getting  ham 
mered  for  his  sins." 

She  gripped  her  hands  tightly  over  her  breast. 
"You  mean  that — that  my  husband—  —  ?" 

He  nodded.  "It  won't  go  on  much  longer.  I 
should  go  to  bed  if  I  were  you." 

He  meant  it  kindly,  but  the  words  sounded  to 
her  most  hideously  callous.  She  turned  from  him, 
sobbing  hysterically,  and  sprang  for  the  open  door. 

The  next  moment  she  was  running  swiftly  round 
the  house  to  the  stable.  Turning  the  corner,  she 
heard  a  sound  like  a  pistol-shot.  It  was  followed 
instantly  by  a  scream  so  utterly  inhuman  that 
even  then  she  almost  wheeled  and  fled.  But  she 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       205 

mastered  the  impulse.  She  reached  the  stable- 
door,  fumbled  at  the  latch,  finally  burst  inwards 
as  it  swung  open. 

A  lantern  hung  on  a  nail  immediately  within. 
By  its  light  she  discovered  her  husband — a  gigantic 
figure — towering  over  something  she  could  not 
see,  something  that  crouched,  writhing  and  moan 
ing,  in  a  corner.  He  was  armed  with  a  horsewhip, 
and  even  as  she  entered  she  saw  him  raise  it  and 
bring  it  downwards  with  a  horrible  precision  upon 
the  thing  at  his  feet.  She  heard  again  that  awful 
shriek  of  anguish,  and  a  sick  shudder  went  through 
her.  Unconsciously,  a  cry  broke  from  her  own 
lips,  and,  as  Mercer's  arm  went  up  again,  she 
flung  herself  forward  and  tried  to  catch  it. 

In  her  agitation  she  failed.  The  heavy  end  of 
the  whip  fell  upon  her  outstretched  arm,  numbing 
it  to  the  shoulder.  She  heard  Mercer  utter  a 
frightful  oath,  and  with  a  gasp  she  fell. 

VIII 

WHEN  she  came  to  herself  she  was  lying  on  her 
bed.  Someone — Curtis — was  bathing  her  arm  in 
warm  water.  He  did  not  speak  to  her  or  raise  his 
eyes  from  his  occupation.  She  thought  he  looked 
very  grim. 

"Where  is — Brett?"  she  whispered. 

Curtis  did  not  answer  her,  but  a  moment  later 
she  looked  beyond  him  and  saw  Mercer  leaning 
upon  the  bed-rail.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her, 


2o6  Rosa  Mundi 

and  held  her  own.  She  sought  to  avoid  them,  but 
could  not.  And  suddenly  she  knew  that  he  was 
angry  with  her,  not  merely  displeased,  but  furi 
ously  angry. 

She  made  an  effort  to  rise,  but  at  that  Curtis 
laid  a  restraining  hand  upon  her,  and  spoke. 

"Go  away,  Mercer!"  he  said.  "Haven't  you 
done  harm  enough  for  one  night?" 

The  words  amazed  her.  She  had  never  thought 
that  he  would  dare  to  use  such  a  tone  to  her  hus 
band.  She  trembled  for  the  result,  for  Mercer's 
face  just  then  was  terrible,  but  Curtis  did  not  so 
much  as  glance  in  his  direction. 

Mercer's  eyes  remained  mercilessly  fixed  upon 
her. 

"Do  you  wish  me  to  go?"  he  said. 

"No,"  she  murmured  faintly. 

Her  arm  was  beginning  to  hurt  her  horribly,  and 
she  shuddered  uncontrollably  once  or  twice.  But 
that  unvarying  scrutiny  was  harder  to  bear,  and  at 
last,  in  desperation,  she  made  a  quivering  appeal. 

' '  Come  and  help  me ! ' '  she  begged.  ' '  Come  and 
lift  me  up!" 

For  an  instant  he  did  not  stir,  and  she  even 
thought  he  would  refuse.  Then,  stiffly,  he 
straightened  himself  and  moved  round  to  her 
side. 

Stooping,  he  raised  and  supported  her.  But 
his  expression  did  not  alter;  the  murderous  glare 
was  still  in  his  eyes.  She  turned  her  face  into  his 
breast  and  lay  still. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       207 

After  what  seemed  a  very  long  interval  Curtis 
spoke. 

1 '  That's  all  I  can  do  for  the  present.  I  will  dress 
it  again  in  the  morning,  and  it  had  better  be  in  a 
sling.  Mercer,  I  should  like  a  word  with  you  out 
side." 

Sybil  stirred  sharply  at  the  brief  demand.  Her 
nerves  were  on  edge,  and  a  quaking  doubt  shot 
through  her  as  to  what  Mercer  might  do  if  Curtis 
presumed  too  far. 

She  laid  an  imploring  hand  on  her  husband's 
arm. 

"Stay  with  me!"  she  begged  him  faintly. 

He  did  not  move  or  speak. 

Curtis  stood  up. 

"Presently,  then!"  he  said,  and  she  heard  him 
move  away. 

At  the  door  he  paused,  and  she  thought  he  made 
some  rapid  sign  to  Mercer.  But  the  next  moment 
she  heard  the  door  close  softly,  and  knew  that  he 
had  gone. 

She  lay  quite  still  thereafter,  her  heart  fluttering 
too  much  for  speech.  What  would  he  say  to  her, 
she  wondered ;  how  would  he  break  his  silence  ?  She 
had  no  weapon  to  oppose  against  his  anger.  She 
was  as  powerless  before  it  as  Beelzebub  had  been. 

Suddenly  he  moved.  He  turned  her  head  back 
upon  his  arm  and  looked  straight  down  into  her 
eyes.  She  did  not  shrink.  She  would  not.  But 
her  heart  died  within  her.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
gazing  into  hell,  watching  a  soul  in  torment. 


2o8  Rosa  Mundi 

4 '  Well  ? "  he  said  at  last .     "  Are  you  satisfied  ?" 

"Satisfied?"  she  faltered. 

"As  to  the  sort  of  monster  you  have  married," 
he  explained,  with  savage  bitterness.  "You've 
been  putting  out  feelers  ever  since  you  came  here. 
Did  you  think  I  didn't  know  ?  Well,  you've  found 
out  a  little  more  than  you  wanted,  this  time. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  you.  Perhaps  "- 
sheer  cruelty  shone  red  in  his  eyes — "when  you  see 
what  I've  done  to  you,  you  will  remember  that  I 
am  not  a  man  to  play  with,  and  that  any  one,  man 
or  woman,  who  interferes  with  me,  must  pay  the 
price." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  answered 
with  an  effort.  "What  happened  was  an 
accident." 

' '  Was  it  ? "  he  said  brutally.     ' '  Was  it  ? " 

Still  she  did  not  shrink  from  him. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "It  was  an  accident." 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked. 

She  answered  him  instantly.  She  had  not 
realized  till  then  that  she  was  fighting  the  flames 
for  his  soul.  The  knowledge  came  upon  her 
suddenly,  and  it  gave  her  strength. 

"Because  I  know  that  you  love  me,"  she  said. 
"Because — because — though  you  are  cruel,  and 
though  you  may  be  wicked — I  love  you,  too." 

She  said  it  with  absolute  sincerity,  but  it  was  the 
hardest  thing  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life.  To  tell 
this  man  who  was  half  animal  and  half  fiend  that 
he  had  not  somehow  touched  the  woman's  heart  in 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       209 

her  seemed  almost  a  desecration.  She  saw  the 
flare  of  passion  leap  up  in  his  eyes,  and  she  was 
conscious  for  one  sick  moment  of  a  feeling  of 
downright  repulsion.  If  she  had  only  succeeded 
in  turning  his  savagery  into  another  channel  she 
had  spoken  in  vain;  or,  worse,  she  had  made  a 
mistake  that  could  never  be  remedied. 

Abruptly  she  felt  her  courage  waver.  She 
shrank  at  last. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,"  she  faltered;  and 
again,  "I  want  you  to  understand." 

But  she  could  get  no  further.  She  hid  her  face 
against  him  and  began  to  sob. 

There  followed  a  silence,  tense  and  terrible, 
which  she  dared  not  break. 

Then  she  felt  him  bend  lower,  and  suddenly  his 
arms  were  under  her.  He  lifted  her  like  a  little 
child  and  sat  down,  holding  her.  His  hand  pressed 
her  head  against  his  neck,  fondling,  soothing,  con 
soling.  And  she  knew,  with  an  overwhelming 
thankfulness,  that  she  had  not  offered  herself  in 
vain.  She  had  drawn  him  out  of  his  hell  by  the 
magic  of  her  love. 

IX 

WHEN  morning  came  Mercer  departed  alone, 
and  Curtis  was  left  in  charge.  Sybil  lay  in  her 
room  half  dressed,  while  the  latter  treated  her 
injured  arm. 

"You    ought    not    to    be    up   at   all,"   he   re- 


210  Rosa  Mundi 

marked,  as  he  uncovered  it.  "Have  you  had 
any  sleep?" 

"Not  much,"  she  was  obliged  to  confess. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  in  bed?" 

"I  don't  want — my  husband — to  think  me  very 
bad,"  she  said,  flushing  a  little. 

"Why  not?"  said  Curtis.  And  then  he  glanced 
at  her,  saw  the  flush,  and  said  no  more. 

She  watched  his  bandaging  with  interest. 

"You  look  so  professional,"  she  said. 

He  uttered  a  short  laugh. 

"Do  I?" 

"I  mean,"  she  said,  unaccountably  embarrassed, 
"that  you  do  it  so  nicely." 

' '  I  have  done  a  good  deal  of  veterinary  work, "  he 
said  rather  coldly.  And  then  suddenly  he  seemed 
to  change  his  mind.  "I  was  a  professional  once," 
he  said,  without  looking  at  her.  "I  made  a  mis 
take — a  bad  one — and  it  broke  me.  That's 
all." 

"Oh,"  she  said  impulsively,  "I  am  so  sorry." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  quietly. 

Not  till  he  was  about  to  leave  her  did  she 
manage  to  ask  the  question  that  had  been  upper 
most  in  her  mind  since  his  entrance. 

"Have  you  seen  Beelzebub  yet?" 

He  paused — somewhat  unwillingly,  she  thought. 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"Is  he" — she  hesitated — "is  he  very  bad?" 

"He  isn't  going  to  die,  if  that  is  what  you 
mean,"  said  Curtis. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       211 

She  felt  her  heart  contract. 

"Please  tell  me!"  she  urged  rather  faintly.  "I 
want  to  know." 

With  the  air  of  a  man  submitting  to  the  inevi 
table  Curtis  proceeded  to  inform  her. 

"He  is  lying  in  the  loft  over  the  stable,  like  a 
sick  dog.  He  is  rather  badly  mauled,  and  whim 
pers  a  good  deal.  I  shall  take  him  some  soup 
across  presently,  but  I  don't  suppose  he'll  touch 
it." 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  said.  "What  shall  you  do 
then?" 

"Mercer  will  have  to  lend  a  hand  if  I  can't 
manage  him,"  Curtis  answered.  "But  I  shall  do 
my  best." 

She  suppressed  a  shudder. 

"I  hope  you  will  be  successful." 

"So  do  I,"  said  Curtis,  departing. 

When  she  saw  him  again  she  asked  anxiously  for 
news ;  but  he  had  none  of  a  cheering  nature  to  give 
her.  Beelzebub  would  not  look  at  food. 

"I  knew  he  wouldn't,"  he  said.  "He  has  been 
like  this  before." 

"Mr.  Curtis!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It's  Mercer's  way.  He  regards  the  boy  as  his 
own  personal  property,  and  so  he  is,  more  or  less. 
He  picked  him  up  in  the  bush  when  he  wasn't  more 
than  a  few  days  old.  The  mother  was  dead. 
Mercer  took  him,  and  he  was  brought  up  among 
the  farm  men.  He's  a  queer  young  animal,  more 


212  Rosa  Mundi 

like  a  dog  than  a  human  being.  He  needs  hammer 
ing  now  and  then.  I  kick  him  occasionally  myself. 
But  Mercer  goes  too  far." 

"What  had  he  done?"  questioned  Sybil. 

"Oh,  it  was  some  neglect  of  the  horses.  I  don't 
know  exactly  what.  Mercer  isn't  precisely  pa 
tient,  you  know.  And  when  the  fellow  gets  thor 
oughly  scared  he's  like  a  rabbit;  he  can't  move. 
Mercer  thinks  him  obstinate,  and  the  rest  follows 
as  a  natural  consequence.  I  must  ask  you  to 
excuse  me.  I  have  work  to  do." 

"One  moment!"  Sybil  laid  a  nervous  hand  on 
his  arm.  "Mr.  Curtis,  if — if  you  can't  persuade 
the  poor  boy  to  take  any  food,  how  will  my  hus 
band  do  so?" 

"He  won't,"  said  Curtis.  "He'll  hold  him 
down  while  I  drench  him,  that's  all." 

"That  must  be  very  bad  for  him,"  she  said. 

"Of  course  it  is.  But  we  can't  let  him  die,  you 
know."  He  looked  at  her  suddenly.  "Don't 
you  worry  yourself,  Mrs.  Mercer,"  he  said  kindly. 
"He  isn't  quite  the  same  as  a  white  man,  though 
it  may  offend  your  Western  prejudices  to  hear  me 
say  so.  Beelzebub  will  pull  through  all  right. 
They  are  wonderfully  tough,  these  chaps." 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  persuade  him  to  take  some 
thing,"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  suppose  you  could.  In  any  case,  you 
mustn't  try.  It  is  against  orders." 

"Whose  orders?"  she  asked  quickly. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       213 

"Your  husband's,"  he  answered.  "His  last 
words  to  me  were  that  I  was  on  no  account  to  let 
you  go  near  him." 

"Oh,  why?"  she  protested.  "And  I  might  be 
able  to  help." 

"It  isn't  at  all  likely,"  he  said.  "And  he's  not 
a  very  pretty  thing  to  look  at." 

"As  if  that  matters!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  it  does  matter,  because  I  don't  want  to 
have  you  in  hysterics,  as  much  for  my  own  sake  as 
for  yours."  He  smiled  a  little.  "Also,  if  Mercer 
finds  he  has  been  disobeyed  it  will  make  him  savage 
again,  and  perhaps  I  shall  be  the  next  victim." 

"He  would  never  touch  you!"  she  exclaimed. 

'  'He  might.     Why  shouldn't  he? " 

"He  never  would!"  she  reiterated.  "You  are 
not  afraid  of  him." 

He  looked  contemptuous  for  a  second ;  and  then 
his  expression  changed. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said.  "That  is  my  chief 
safeguard;  and,  permit  me  to  say,  yours  also.  It 
may  be  worth  remembering." 

"You  think  him  a  coward!"  she  said. 

He  considered  a  little. 

"No,  not  a  coward,"  he  said  then.  "There  is 
nothing  mean  about  him,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  He 
suffers  from  too  much  raw  material,  that's  all. 
They  call  him  Brute  Mercer  in  these  parts.  But 
perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  tame  him  some  day." 

"  I ! "  she  said,  and  turned  away  with  a  mournful 
little  smile. 


214  Rosa  Mundi 

She  might  charm  him  once  or  even  twice  out 
of  a  savage  mood,  but  the  conviction  was  strong 
upon  her  that  he  would  overwhelm  her  in  the 
end. 


X 


FOR  nearly  an  hour  after  Curtis  had  left  her  she 
sat  still,  thinking  of  Beelzebub.  The  afternoon 
sunlight  lay  blindingly  upon  all  things.  The  heat 
of  it  hung  laden  in  the  air.  But  she  could  not 
sleep  or  even  try  to  rest.  Her  arm  throbbed  and 
burned  with  a  ceaseless  pain,  and  ever  the  thought 
of  Beelzebub,  lying  in  the  loft  "like  a  sick  dog," 
oppressed  her  like  an  evil  dream. 

The  shadows  had  begun  to  lengthen  a  little  when 
at  last  she  rose.  She  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
Whatever  the  consequences,  she  could  endure 
them  more  easily  than  this  torture  of  inactivity. 
As  for  Curtis  she  believed  him  fully  capable  of 
taking  care  of  himself. 

She  went  to  the  kitchen  and  was  relieved  to  find 
him  absent.  Searching,  she  presently  found  the 
bowl  of  soup  Beelzebub  had  refused.  She  turned 
it  into  a  saucepan  and  hung  over  the  fire,  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  heat  in  her  pressing  desire  to  be  of 
use. 

Finally,  armed  with  the  hot  liquor,  she  stole 
across  the  yard  to  the  stable.  The  place  was 
deserted,  save  for  the  horse  she  usually  rode,  who 
whinnied  softly  to  her  as  she  passed.  At  the  foot 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       215 

of  the  loft  ladder  she  stood  awhile,  listening,  and 
presently  heard  a  heavy  groan. 

She  had  to  make  the  ascent  very  slowly,  using 
her  injured  arm  to  support  herself.  When  she 
emerged  at  last  she  found  herself  in  a  twilight 
which  for  a  time  her  dazzled  eyes  could  not  pierce. 
The  heat  was  intolerable,  and  the  place  hummed 
with  flies. 

"Beelzebub!"  she  said  softly  at  length. 
"Beelzebub,  where  are  you?' 

There  was  a  movement  in  what  she  dimly  dis 
cerned  to  be  a  heap  of  straw,  and  she  heard  a 
feeble  whimpering  as  of  an  animal  in  pain. 

Her  heart  throbbed  with  pity  as  she  crept  across 
the  littered  floor.  She  was  beginning  to  see  more 
distinctly,  and  by  sundry  chinks  she  discovered 
the  loft  door.  She  went  to  it,  fumbled  for  the 
latch,  and  opened  it.  Instantly  the  place  was 
flooded  with  light,  and  turning  round,  she  beheld 
Beelzebub. 

He  was  lying  in  a  twisted  heap  in  the  straw,  half 
naked,  looking  like  some  monstrous  reptile.  In  all 
her  life  she  had  never  beheld  anything  so  horrible. 
His  black  flesh  was  scored  over  and  over  with  long 
purple  stripes;  even  his  face  was  swollen  almost 
beyond  recognition,  and  out  of  it  the  whites  of  his 
eyes  gleamed,  bloodshot  and  terrible. 

For  a  few  moments  she  was  possessed  by  an 
almost  overpowering  desire  to  flee  from  the  awful 
sight;  and  then  again  he  stirred  and  whimpered, 
and  pity — element  most  divine — came  to  her  aid. 


2i6  Rosa  Mundi 

She  went  to  the  poor,  whining  creature,  and 
knelt  beside  him. 

1 '  See ! "  she  said .  "I  have  brought  you  some  soup . 
Do  try  and  take  a  little!  It  will  do  you  good." 

There  was  a  note  of  entreaty  in  her  voice,  but 
Beelzebub's  eyes  stared  as  though  they  would  leap 
out  of  his  head. 

He  writhed  away  from  her  into  the  straw.  ' '  Go 
'way,  missis!"  he  hissed  at  her,  with  lips  drawn 
back  in  terror.  "Go  'way,  or  Boss'll  come  and 
beat  Beelzebub !" 

He  spoke  the  white  man's  language;  it  was  the 
only  one  he  knew,  but  there  was  scmething  cu 
riously  unfamiliar,  something  almost  bestial  in  the 
way  he  spat  his  words. 

Again  Sybil  was  conscious  of  a  wild  desire  to 
escape  before  sheer  horror  paralysed  her  limbs,  but 
she  fought  and  conquered  the  impulse. 

"Boss  won't  beat  you  any  more,"  she  said. 
"And  I  want  you  to  be  a  good  boy  and  drink  this 
before  I  go.  I  brought  it  myself,  because  I  knew 
you  would  take  it  to  please  me.  You  will,  won't 
you,  Beelzebub?" 

But  Beelzebub  was  not  to  be  easily  persuaded. 
He  cried  and  moaned  and  writhed  at  every  word 
she  spoke.  But  Sybil  had  mastered  herself,  and 
she  was  very  patient.  She  coaxed  him  as  though 
he  had  been  in  truth  the  sick  dog  to  which  Curtis 
had  likened  him.  And  at  last,  by  sheer  persist 
ence,  she  managed  to  insert  the  spoon  between  his 
chattering  teeth. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       217 

He  let  her  feed  him  then,  lying  passive,  still 
whimpering  between  every  gulp,  while  she  talked 
soothingly,  scarcely  knowing  what  she  said  in 
the  resolute  effort  to  keep  her  ever-recurring  hor 
ror  at  bay.  When  the  bowl  was  empty  she 
rose. 

"Perhaps  you  will  go  to  sleep  now,"  she  said 
kindly.  ' '  Suppose  you  try ! ' ' 

He  stared  up  at  her  from  his  lair  with  rolling, 
uneasy  eyes.  Suddenly  he  pointed  to  her  band 
aged  arm. 

"Boss  did  that!"  he  croaked. 

She  turned  to  close  the  door  again,  feeling  the 
blood  rise  in  her  face. 

"Boss  didn't  mean  to,"  she  answered  with  as 
much  steadiness  as  she  could  muster.  "And  he 
didn't  mean  to  hurt  you  so  badly,  either,  Beelze 
bub.  He  was  sorry  afterwards." 

She  saw  his  teeth  gleam  in  the  twilight  like  the 
bared  fangs  of  a  wolf,  and  knew  that  he  grinned 
in  derision  of  this  statement.  She  picked  up 
her  bowl  and  turned  to  go.  At  the  same  in 
stant  he  spoke  in  a  piercing  whisper  out  of  the 
darkness. 

"Boss  kill  a  white  man  once,  missis!" 

She  stood  still,  rooted  to  the  spot.  "Beelze 
bub!" 

He  shrank  away,  whimpering. 

"No,  no!  Boss'll  kill  poor  Beelzebub !  Missis 
won't  tell  Boss?" 

To  her  horror  his  hand  shot  out  and  fastened 


Rosa  Mundi 


upon  her  skirt.  But  she  could  not  have  moved  in 
any  case.  She  stood  staring  down  at  him,  cold- 
cold  to  the  very  heart  with  foreboding. 

"No,"  she  said  at  last,  and  it  was  as  if  she  stood 
apart  and  listened  to  another  woman,  very  calm 
and  collected,  speaking  on  her  behalf.  "I  will 
never  tell  him,  Beelzebub.  You  will  be  quite  safe 
with  me.  So  tell  me  what  you  mean!  Don't  be 
afraid!  Speak  plainly!  When  did  Boss  kill  a 
white  man?" 

There  must  have  been  something  of  com 
pulsion  in  her  manner,  for,  albeit  quaveringly 
and  with  obvious  terror,  the  negro  answered 
her. 

"Down  by  Bowker  Creek,  missis,  'fore  you 
come.  Boss  and  the  white  man  fight  —  a  dam'  big 
fight.  Beelzebub  run  away.  Afterwards,  Boss, 
come  on  alone.  So  Beelzebub  know  that  Boss  kill' 
the  white  man." 

"Oh,  then  you  didn't  see  him  killed!  You 
don't  know?" 

Was  it  her  own  lips  uttering  the  words?  They 
felt  quite  stift  and  powerless. 

"Beelzebub  run  away,"  she  heard  him  repeating 
rather  vacantly. 

"What  did  they  fight  with?"  she  said. 

"They  fight  with  their  hands,"  he  told  her. 
"White  man  from  Bowker  Creek  try  to  shoot  Boss, 
and  make  Boss  very  angry." 

"But  perhaps  he  wasn't  killed,"  she  insisted  to 
herself.  "Of  course  —  of  course,  he  wasn't.  You 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       219 

shouldn't  say  such  things,  Beelzebub.  You 
weren't  there  to  see." 

Beelzebub  shuffled  in  the  straw  and  whined 
depreciatingly. 

"Tell  me,"  she  heard  the  other  woman  say 
peremptorily,  "what  was  the  white  man's  name?" 

But  Beelzebub  only  moaned,  and  she  was  forced 
to  conclude  that  he  did  not  know. 

"Where  is  Bowker  Creek?"  she  asked  next. 

He  could  not  tell  her.  His  intelligence  seemed 
to  have  utterly  deserted  him. 

She  stood  silent,  considering,  while  he  coiled 
about  revoltingly  in  the  straw  at  her  feet. 

Suddenly  through  the  afternoon  silence  there 
came  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs.  She  started 
and  listened. 

Beelzebub  frantically  clutched  at  her  shoes. 

"Missis  won't  tell  Boss!"  he  implored  again. 
"Missis  won't— 

She  stepped  desperately  out  of  his  reach. 

4 '  Hush ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  Hush !  He  will  hear  you. 
I  must  go.  I  must  go  at  once." 

Emergency  gave  her  strength.  She  moved  to 
the  trap-door,  and,  she  knew  not  how,  found  the 
ladder  with  her  feet. 

Grey-faced,  dazed,  and  cold  as  marble,  she 
descended.  Yet  she  did  not  stumble.  Her  limbs 
moved  mechanically,  unfalteringly. 

When  she  reached  the  bottom  she  turned  with 
absolute  steadiness  and  found  Brett  Mercer  stand 
ing  in  the  doorway  watching  her. 


220  Rosa  Mundi 


XI 


HE  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence  as  she  came 
forward.  She  did  not  stop  to  ascertain  if  he  were 
angry  or  not.  Somehow  it  did  not  seem  to  matter. 
She  only  dealt  with  the  urgent  necessity  for  avert 
ing  his  suspicion. 

"I  just  ran  across  with  some  soup  for  Beelze 
bub,"  she  said,  her  pale  face  raised  unflinchingly. 
"I  am  glad  to  say  he  has  taken  it.  Please  don't 
go  up!  I  want  him  to  get  to  sleep.' 

She  spoke  with  a  wholly  unconscious  authority. 
The  supreme  effort  she  was  making  seemed  to 
place  her  upon  a  different  footing.  She  laid  a 
quiet  hand  upon  his  arm  and  drew  him  out  of  the 
stable. 

He  went  with  her  as  one  surprised  into  sub 
mission.  One  of  the  farm  men  who  had  taken  his 
horse  stared  after  them  in  amazement. 

As  they  crossed  the  yard  together  Mercer  found 
his  voice. 

"I  told  Curtis  you  weren't  to  go  near  Beelze 
bub." 

"I  know,"  she  answered.  "Mr.  Curtis  told 
me." 

He  cracked  his  whip  savagely. 

"Where  is  Curtis?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "But,  Brett,  if 
you  are  angry  because  I  went  you  must  deal  with 
me,  not  with  Mr.  Curtis.  He  had  nothing  what 
ever  to  do  with  it." 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       221 

Mercer  was  silent,  and  she  divined  with  no  sense 
of  elation  that  he  would  not  turn  his  anger  against 
her. 

They  entered  the  house  together,  and  he  strode 
through  the  passage,  calling  for  Curtis.  But  when 
the  latter  appeared  in  answer  to  the  summons,  to 
her  surprise  Mercer  began  to  speak  upon  a  totally 
different  subject. 

"I  have  just  seen  Stevens  from  Wallarroo. 
They  are  all  in  a  mortal  funk  there.  He  was  on 
his  way  over  here  to  ask  you  to  go  and  look  at  a 
man  who  is  very  bad  with  something  that  looks 
like  smallpox.  You  can  please  yourself  about 
going;  though,  if  you  take  my  advice,  you'll 
stay  away." 

Curtis  did  not  at  once  reply.  He  gravely  took 
the  empty  bowl  from  Sybil's  hand,  and  it  was  upon 
her  that  his  eyes  rested  as  he  finally  said,  "Do 
you  think  you  could  manage  without  me?" 

She  looked  up  with  perfect  steadiness. 

"Certainly  I  could.  Please  do  as  you  think 
right!" 

"What  about  Beelzebub?"  he  said. 

Mercer  made  a  restless  movement. 

"He  will  be  on  his  legs  again  in  a  day  or  two. 
One  of  the  men  must  look  after  him." 

' '  I  shall  look  after  him,"  Sybil  said,  with  a  calm 
ness  of  resolution  that  astounded  both  her  hearers. 

Mercer  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  but  said 
nothing.  It  was  Curtis  who  spoke  with  the  voice 
of  authority. 


222  Rosa  Mundi 

"You  will  have  to  take  care  of  her,"  he  said 
bluntly.  "Bear  in  mind  what  I  said  to  you  last 
night!  I  will  show  you  how  to  treat  the  arm. 
And  then  I  think  I  had  better  go.  It  may  prevent 
an  epidemic." 

Thereafter  he  assumed  so  businesslike  an  air 
that  he  seemed  to  Sybil  to  be  completely  trans 
formed.  There  never  had  been  much  deference 
in  his  attitude  towards  Mercer,  but  he  treated 
him  now  without  the  smallest  ceremony.  He  was 
as  a  man  suddenly  awakened  from  a  long  lethargy. 
From  that  moment  to  the  moment  of  his  departure 
his  activity  was  unceasing. 

Sybil  and  Mercer  watched  him  finally  ride  away, 
and  it  was  not  till  he  was  actually  gone  that  the 
fact  that  she  was  left  absolutely  alone  with  her 
husband  came  home  to  her. 

With  a  sense  of  shock  she  realized  it,  and  those 
words  of  Beelzebub's — the  words  that  she  had  been 
so  resolutely  forcing  into  the  back  of  her  mind- 
came  crowding  back  upon  her  with  a  vividness  and 
persistence  that  were  wholly  beyond  her  control. 

What  was  she  going  to  do,  she  wondered? 
What  could  she  do  with  this  awful,  this  unspeak 
able  doubt  pressing  ever  upon  her?  It  might  all 
be  a  mistake,  a  hideous  mistake  on  Beelzebub's 
part.  She  had  no  great  faith  in  his  intelligence. 
It  might  be  that  by  some  evil  chance  his  muddled 
brain  had  registered  the  name  of  Bowker  Creek 
in  connection  with  the  fight  which  she  did  not  for 
a  moment  doubt  had  at  some  time  taken  place. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       223 

Beelzebub  was  never  reliable  in  the  matter  of 
details,  and  he  had  not  been  able  to  answer  her 
question  regarding  the  place. 

Over  and  over  again  she  tried  to  convince  herself 
that  her  fear  was  groundless,  and  over  and  over 
again  the  words  came  back  to  her,  refusing  to  be 
forgotten  or  ignored — ' '  the  white  man  from  Bow- 
ker  Creek."  Who  was  this  white  man  whom 
Mercer  had  fought,  this  man  who  had  tried  to 
shoot  him  ?  She  shuddered  whenever  she  pictured 
the  conflict.  She  was  horribly  afraid. 

Yet  she  played  her  part  unfalteringly,  and 
Mercer  never  suspected  the  seething  anguish  of 
suspense  and  uncertainty  that  underlay  her  stead 
fast  composure.  He  thought  her  quieter  than 
usual,  deemed  her  shy ;  and  he  treated  her  in  con 
sequence  with  a  tenderness  of  which  she  had  not 
believed  him  capable — a  tenderness  that  wrung 
her  heart. 

She  was  thankful  when  the  morning  came,  and 
he  left  her,  for  the  strain  was  almost  more  than  she 
could  endure. 

But  in  the  interval  of  solitude  that  ensued  she 
began  to  build  up  her  strength  anew.  Alone  with 
her  doubts,  she  faced  the  fact  that  she  would  pro 
bably  never  know  the  truth.  She  could  not  rely 
upon  Beelzebub  for  accuracy,  and  she  could  not 
refer  to  her  husband.  The  only  course  open  to 
her  was  to  bury  the  evil  thing  as  deeply  as  might 
be,  to  turn  her  face  resolutely  away  from  it,  to 
forget — oh,  Heaven,  if  she  could  but  forget ! 


224  Rosa  Mundi 

All  through  that  day  Beelzebub  slept,  curled  up 
in  the  straw.  She  visited  him  several  times,  but 
he  needed  nothing.  Nature  had  provided  her  own 
medicine  for  his  tortured  body.  In  the  evening  a 
man  came  with  a  note  from  Curtis.  The  case  was 
undoubtedly  one  of  smallpox,  he  wrote,  and  he 
did  not  think  his  patient  would  recover.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  panic  at  Wallarroo,  and  he  had 
removed  the  man  to  a  cattle-shed  at  some  distance 
from  the  township  where  they  were  isolated. 
There  were  one  or  two  things  he  needed  which  he 
desired  Mercer  to  send  on  the  following  day  to  a 
place  he  described,  whence  he  himself  would  fetch 
them. 

"Beelzebub  can  go,"  said  Mercer. 

"If  he  is  well  enough!"  said  Sybil. 

He  frowned. 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  what  these  nig 
gers  are  made  of.  Of  course,  he  will  be  well 
enough." 

She  said  no  more,  for  she  saw  that  the  topic  was 
unwelcome;  but  she  determined  to  make  a  stand  on 
Beelzebub's  behalf  the  next  day,  unless  his  condi 
tion  were  very  materially  improved. 


XII 


IT  was  with  surprise  and  relief  that  upon  enter 
ing  the  kitchen  on  the  following  morning  Sybil 
found  Beelzebub  back  in  his  accustomed  place. 
He  greeted  her  with  a  wider  grin  than  usual,  which 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       225 

she  took  for  an  expression  of  gratitude.  He 
seemed  to  have  made  a  complete  recovery,  for 
which  she  was  profoundly  thankful. 

She  herself  was  feeling  better  that  day.  Her 
arm  pained  her  less,  and  she  no  longer  carried  it 
in  a  sling.  She  had  breakfasted  in  bed,  Mercer 
himself  waiting  upon  her. 

She  was  amazed  to  hear  him  speak  with  kindness 
to  Beelzebub,  and  even  ask  the  boy  if  he  thought 
he  could  manage  the  ride  to  Wallarroo.  Beelzebub, 
abjectly  eager  to  return  to  favour,  professed  him 
self  ready  to  start  at  once.  And  so  presently  Sybil 
found  herself  alone. 

The  long  day  passed  without  event.  The  loneli 
ness  did  not  oppress  her.  She  busied  herself  with 
preparing  delicacies  for  the  sick  man,  which  Beel 
zebub  could  take  on  the  following  day.  Beelzebub 
had  had  smallpox,  and  knew  no  fear. 

He  did  not  return  from  his  errand  till  the  after 
noon  was  well  advanced.  She  went  to  the  door  to- 
hear  his  news,  but  he  was  in  his  least  intelligent 
mood,  and  seemed  able  to  tell  her  very  little.  By- 
dint  of  close  questioning  she  elicited  that  he  had 
seen  Curtis,  who  had  told  him  that  the  man  was. 
worse.  Beyond  this,  Beelzebub  appeared  to  know 
nothing;  and  yet  there  was  something  about  him 
that  excited  her  attention.  He  seemed  more  than1 
once  to  be  upon  the  point  of  saying  something, 
and  to  fail  at  the  last  moment,  as  though  either  his 
wits  or  his  courage  were  unequal  to  the  effort. 
She  could  not  have  said  what  conveyed  this. 
15 


226  Rosa  Mundi 

impression,  but  it  was  curiously  strong.  She  tried 
hard  to  elicit  further  information,  but  Beelzebub 
only  became  more  idiotic  in  response,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  relinquish  the  attempt. 

Mercer  came  in  soon  after,  and  she  dismissed  the 
matter  from  her  mind.  But  a  vivid  dream  recalled 
it.  She  started  up  in  the  night,  agitated,  inco 
herent,  crying  that  someone  wanted  her,  someone 
who  could  not  wait,  and  she  must  go.  She  could 
not  tell  her  husband  what  the  dream  had  been 
and  in  the  morning  all  memory  of  it  had  vanished. 
But  it  left  a  vague  disquietude  behind,  a  haunting 
anxiety  that  hung  heavily  upon  her.  She  could 
not  feel  at  peace. 

Mercer  left  that  morning.  He  had  to  go  a  con 
siderable  distance  to  an  outlying  farm.  She  saw 
him  off  from  the  gate,  and  then  went  back  into  the 
house,  still  with  that  inexplicable  sense  of  oppres 
sion  weighing  her  down. 

She  prepared  the  parcel  that  she  purposed  to 
send  to  Curtis,  and  went  in  search  of  Beelzebub. 
He  was  sweeping  the  kitchen. 

"I  shall  want  you  to  go  to  Wallarroo  again 
xo-day,"  she  said.  "You  had  better  start  soon,  as 
I  should  like  Mr.  Curtis  to  get  this  in  good  time." 

Beelzebub  stopped  sweeping,  and  cringed  before 
her. 

"Boss  gone?"  he  questioned  cautiously. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  wondering  what  was 
coming. 

He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her,  still  cringing. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       227 

"Missis,"  he  whispered  piercingly,  "Beelzebub 
see  the  white  man  yesterday." 

She  stared  at  him. 

"What  white  man,  Beelzebub?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"White  man  from  Bowker  Creek,"  said  Beelze 
bub. 

Her  breathing  stopped  suddenly.  She  felt  as  if 
she  had  been  stabbed.  ' '  Where ! ' '  she  managed  to 
gasp. 

Beelzebub  looked  vacant.  There  was  evidently 
something  that  she  was  expected  to  understand. 
She  forced  her  startled  brain  into  activity. 

"Is  he  the  man  who  is  ill — the  man  Mr.  Curtis 
is  taking  care  of?" 

Beelzebub  looked  intelligent  again. 

"White  man  very  bad,"  he  said. 

"But— but — how  was  it  you  saw  him?  You 
were  told  to  leave  the  parcel  by  the  fence  for  Mr. 
Curtis  to  fetch." 

Beelzebub  exerted  himself  to  explain. 

"Mr.  Curtis  away,  so  Beelzebub  creep  up  close 
and  look  in.  But  the  white  man  see  Beelzebub 
and  curse;  so  Beelzebub  go  away  again." 

"And  that  is  the  man  you  thought  Boss  killed?" 
Sybil  questioned,  relief  and  fear  strangely  mingled 
within  her. 

Her  brain  was  beginning  to  whirl,  but  with  all 
her  strength  she  controlled  it.  Now  or  never 
would  she  know  the  truth. 

Beelzebub  was  scared  by  the  question. 


228  Rosa  Mundi 

"Missis  won't  tell  Boss?"  he  begged. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  impatiently.  "When  will 
you  learn  that  I  never  repeat  things?  Now, 
Beelzebub,  I  want  you  to  do  something  for  me. 
Can  you  remember  ?  You  are  to  ask  Mr.  Curtis  to 
tell  you  the  white  man's  name.  Say  that  Boss- 
do  you  understand? — say  that  Boss  wants  to 
know !  And  then  come  back  as  fast  as  you  possi 
bly  can,  before  Boss  gets  home  to-night,  and  tell 
me ! ' ' 

She  repeated  these  instructions  many  times  over 
till  it  seemed  impossible  that  he  could  make  any 
mistake.  And  then  she  watched  him  go,  and  set 
herself  with  a  heart  like  lead  to  face  the  interm 
inable  day. 

She  thought  the  hours  would  never  pass,  so  rest 
less  was  she,  so  continuous  the  torment  of  doubt 
that  vexed  her  soul.  There  were  times  when  she 
felt  that  if  the  thing  she  feared  were  true,  it  would 
kill  her.  If  her  husband — the  man  whom,  in  spite 
of  almost  every  instinct,  she  had  learnt  to  love — 
had  deceived  her,  if  he  had  played  a  double  game 
to  win  her,  if,  in  short,  the  man  he  had  fought  at 
Bowker  Creek  were  Robin  Wentworth,  then  she 
felt  as  if  life  for  her  were  over.  She  might  continue 
to  exist,  indeed,  but  the  heart  within  her  would  be 
dead.  There  would  be  nothing  left  her  but  the 
grey  ruins  of  that  which  had  scarcely  begun  to  be 
happiness. 

She  tried  hard  to  compose  herself,  but  all  her 
strength  could  not  still  the  wild  fluttering  of  her 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       229 

nerves  through  the  long-drawn-out  suspense  of 
that  dreadful  day.  At  every  sound  she  hastened 
to  the  door  to  look  for  Beelzebub,  long  before  he 
could  possibly  return.  At  the  striking  of  every 
hour  she  strained  her  ears  to  listen. 

But  when  at  last  she  heard  the  hoof-beats  that 
told  of  the  negro's  approach  she  felt  that  she  could 
not  go  again;  she  lacked  the  physical  strength  to 
seek  him  and  hear  the  truth. 

For  a  time  she  sat  quite  still,  gathering  all  her 
forces  for  the  ordeal.  Then  at  length  she  com 
pelled  herself,  and  rose. 

Beelzebub  was  grooming  his  horse.  He  looked 
up  at  her  approach  and  grinned. 

"Well,  Beelzebub,"  she  said  through  her  white 
lips,  "have  you  seen  Mr.  Curtis?" 

"Yes,  missis."  Beelzebub  rolled  his  eyes  intelli 
gently.  He  seemed  unaware  of  the  tragedy  in  the 
English  girl's  drawn  face. 

"And  the  white  man?"  she  said. 

"Mr.  Curtis  think  the  white  man  die  soon,"  said 
Beelzebub. 

"Ah!"  She  pressed  her  hand  tightly  against 
her  heart.  She  felt  as  if  its  throbbing  would  choke 
her.  "And — his  name?"  she  said. 

Beelzebub  paused  and  opened  his  eyes  to  their 
widest  extent.  He  was  making  a  supreme  effort, 
and  the  result  was  monstrous.  But  Sybil  did  not 
quail;  she  scarcely  saw  him. 

"His  name?"  she  said;  and  again,  raising  her 
voice,  "His  name?" 


230  Rosa  Mundi 

The  whole  world  seemed  to  rock  while  she 
waited,  but  she  stood  firm  in  the  midst  of  chaos. 
Her  whole  soul  was  concentrated  upon  Beelzebub's 
reply. 

It  came  at  last  with  the  effect  of  something 
uttered  from  an  immense  distance  that  was  yet 
piercingly  distinct. 

"Went —  "  said  Beelzebub,  and  paused;  then, 
with  renewed  effort,  "Wentworth." 

And  Sybil  turned  from  him,  shrinking  as  though 
something  evil  had  touched  her,  and  walked  stiffly 
back  into  the  house.  She  had  known  it  all  day 
long! 

XIII 

SHE  never  knew  afterwards  how  long  a  time 
elapsed  between  the  confirmation  of  her  doubts 
and  the  sudden  starting  to  life  of  a  new  resolution 
within  her.  It  came  upon  her  unexpectedly, 
striking  through  the  numbness  of  her  despair,  nerv 
ing  her  to  action — the  memory  of  her  dream  and 
whence  that  dream  had  sprung.  Robin  Went 
worth  still  lived.  It  might  be  he  would  know  her. 
It  might  even  be  that  he  was  wanting  her.  She 
would  go  to  him. 

It  was  the  only  thing  left  for  her  to  do.  Of  the 
risk  to  herself  she  did  not  think,  nor  would  it  have 
deterred  her  had  it  presented  itself  to  her  mind. 
She  felt  as  though  he  had  called  to  her,  and  she 
had  not  answered. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       231 

To  Beelzebub's  abject  entreaties  she  paid  no 
heed.  There  were  two  fresh  horses  in  the  stable, 
and  she  ordered  him  to  saddle  them  both.  He 
did  not  dare  to  disobey  her  in  the  matter,  but  she 
knew  that  no  power  on  earth  would  have  induced 
him  to  remain  alone  at  the  farm  till  Mercer's 
coming. 

She  left  no  word  to  explain  her  absence.  There 
seemed  no  time  for  any  written  message,  nor  was 
she  in  a  state  of  mind  to  frame  one.  She  was 
driven  by  a  consuming  fever  that  urged  her  to 
perpetual  movement.  It  did  not  seem  to  matter 
how  the  tidings  of  her  going  came  to  Mercer. 

Not  till  she  was  in  the  saddle  and  riding,  riding 
hard,  did  she  know  a  moment's  relief.  The  physi 
cal  exertion  eased  the  inward  tumult,  but  she 
would  not  slacken  for  an  instant.  She  felt  that  to 
do  so  would  be  to  lose  her  reason.  Beelzebub, 
galloping  after  her,  thought  her  demented  already. 

Through  the  long,  long  pastures  she  travelled, 
never  drawing  rein,  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left.  The  animal  she  rode  knew  the  way  to  Wal- 
larroo,  and  followed  it  undeviatingly.  The  sun 
was  beginning  to  slant,  and  the  shadows  to 
lengthen. 

Mile  after  mile  of  rolling  grassland  they  left 
behind  them,  and  still  they  pressed  forward.  At 
last  came  the  twilight,  brief  as  the  soft  sinking  of 
a  curtain,  and  then  the  dark.  But  the  night  was 
ablaze  with  stars,  and  the  road  was  clear. 

Sybil  rode  as  one  in  a  nightmare,  straining  for- 


232  Rosa  Mundi 

ward  eternally.  She  did  not  urge  her  horse,  but  he 
bore  her  so  gallantly  that  she  did  not  need  to  do  so. 
Beelzebub  had  increasing  difficulty  in  keeping  up 
with  her. 

At  last,  after  what  seemed  like  the  passage  of 
many  hours,  they  sighted  from  afar  the  lights  of 
Wallarroo.  Sybil  drew  rein,  and  waited  for 
Beelzebub. 

"Which  way?"  she  said. 

He  pointed  to  a  group  of  trees  upon  a  knoll  some 
distance  from  the  road,  and  thither  she  turned  her 
horse's  head.  Beelzebub  rode  up  beside  her. 

They  left  the  knoll  on  one  side,  and,  skirting  it, 
came  to  a  dip  in  the  hill-side.  And  here  they  came 
at  length  to  the  end  of  their  journey — a  journey 
that  to  Sybil  had  seemed  endless— and  halted 
before  a  wooden  shed  that  had  been  built  for 
cattle.  A  flap  of  canvas  had  been  nailed  above  the 
entrance,  behind  which  a  dim  light  burned.  Sybil 
dismounted  and  drew  near. 

At  first  she  heard  no  sound;  then,  as  she  stood 
hesitating  and  uncertain,  there  came  a  man's 
voice  that  uttered  low,  disjointed  words.  She 
thought  for  a  second  that  someone  was  praying, 
and  then,  with  a  thrill  of  horror,  she  knew  other 
wise.  The  voice  was  uttering  the  most  fearful 
curses  she  had  ever  heard. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  she  did,  but  unable  to 
stand  there  passively  listening,  she  drew  aside  the 
canvas  flap  and  looked  in. 

In  an  instant  the  voice  ceased.     There  fell  a 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       233 

silence,  followed  by  a  wild,  half-strangled  cry. 
She  had  a  glimpse  of  a  prone  figure  in  a  corner 
struggling  upwards,  and  then  Curtis  was  before 
her — Curtis  haggard  and  agitated  as  she  had  never 
seen  him — pushing  her  back  out  of  the  dim  place 
into  the  clean  starlight  without. 

"Mrs.  Mercer!  Are  you  mad?"  she  heard  him 
say. 

She  resisted  his  compelling  hands;  she  was 
strangely  composed  and  undismayed. 

"I  am  coming  in,"  she  said.  "Nothing  on 
earth  will  keep  me  back.  That  man — Robin 
Went  worth — is  a  friend  of  mine.  I  am  going  to 
see  him  and  speak  to  him." 

"Impossible!"  Curtis  said. 

But  she  withstood  him  unfalteringly. 

"  It  is  not  impossible.  You  must  let  me  pass.  I 
mean  to  go  to  him,  and  you  cannot  prevent  it." 

He  saw  the  hopelessness  of  opposing  her.  Her 
eyes  told  him  that  it  was  no  whim  but  steadfast 
purpose  that  had  brought  her  there.  He  looked 
beyond  her  to  Beelzebub,  but  gathered  no  inspir 
ation  in  that  quarter. 

"Let  me  pass,  Mr.  Curtis!"  said  Sybil  gently. 
"I  shall  take  no  harm.  I  must  see  him  before  he 
dies." 

And  Curtis  yielded.  He  was  worn  out  by  long 
and  fruitless  watching,  and  he  could  not  cope  with 
this  fresh  emergency.  He  yielded  to  her  insist 
ence,  and  suffered  her  to  pass  him. 

"He  is  very  far  gone,"  he  said. 


234  Rosa  Mundi 

XIV 

As  Sybil  entered  she  heard  again  that  strange, 
choked  cry.  The  sick  man  was  struggling  to  rise, 
but  could  not. 

She  went  straight  to  the  narrow  pallet  on  which 
he  lay  and  bent  over  him. 

"Robin!  "she  said. 

He  gave  a  great  start,  and  became  intensely 
still,  lying  face  downwards,  his  body  twisted,  his 
head  on  his  arm. 

She  stooped  lower.  She  touched  him.  A 
superhuman  strength  was  hers. 

"Robin,"  she  said,  "do  you  know  me?" 

He  turned  his  face  a  little,  and  she  saw  tke 
malignant  horror  of  the  disease  that  gripped  him. 
It  was  a  sight  that  would  have  turned  her  sick  at 
any  other  time.  But  to-night  she  knew  no  weak 
ness. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  said,  in  a  gasping  whisper. 

"I  am  Sybil,"  she  answered  steadfastly.  "Don't 
you  remember  me?" 

He  lay  motionless  for  a  little,  his  breathing 
sharp  and  short.  At  length : 

"You  had  better  get  away  from  this  pestilent 
hole,"  he  panted  out.  "It's  no  place  for  a 
woman." 

"I  have  come  to  nurse  you,"  she  said. 

"You!"  He  seemed  to  collect  himself  with 
an  effort.  He  turned  his  face  fully  towards 
her.  "Didn't  you  marry  that  devil  Mercer,  after 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       235 

all?"  he  gasped,  gazing  up  at  her  with  glassy 
eyes. 

Only  by  his  eyes  would  she  have  known  him — 
this  man  whom  once  long  ago  she  had  fancied  that 
she  loved — and  even  they  were  strained  and 
unfamiliar.  She  bent  her  head  in  answer.  "Yes, 
Robin,  I  married  him." 

He  began  to  curse  inarticulately,  spasmodi 
cally;  but  that  she  would  not  have.  She  knelt 
down  suddenly  by  his  side,  and  took  his  hand  in 
hers.  The  terrible,  disfigured  countenance  did 
not  appal  her,  though  the  memory  of  it  would 
haunt  her  all  her  life. 

' ' Robin,  listen ! "  she  said  earnestly.  "We  may 
not  have  very  long  together.  Let  us  make  the 
most  of  what  time  we  have!  Don't  waste  your 
strength !  Try  to  tell  me  quietly  what  happened, 
how  it  was  you  gave  me  up!  I  want  to  un 
derstand  it  all.  I  have  never  yet  heard  the 
truth." 

Her  quiet  words,  the  steady  pressure  of  her 
hand,  calmed  him.  He  lay  still  for  a  space,  gazing 
at  her. 

"You're  not  afraid?"  he  muttered  at  last. 

"No,  "she  said. 

He  continued  to  stare  at  her. 

"Is  he — good  to  you?"  he  said. 

The  words  came  with  difficulty.  She  saw  his 
throat  working  with  the  convulsive  effort  to 
produce  sound. 

Curtis  touched  her  arm.     "Give  him  this!" 


236  Rosa  Mundi 

She  took  a  cup  from  his  hand,  and  held  it  to  the 
swollen  lips.  But  he  could  not  swallow.  The 
liquid  trickled  down  into  his  beard. 

"He's  past  it,"  murmured  Curtis. 

"Sybil!"  The  words  came  with  a  hard,  rend 
ing  sound.  "Is  he — good  to  you?" 

She  was  wiping  away  the  spilt  drops  with  infin 
ite,  unfaltering  tenderness. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  answered.  "He  is  very  good 
to  me." 

He  uttered  a  great  gasping  sigh. 

"That's — all — that  matters,"  he  said,  and  fell 
silent,  still  gazing  at  her  with  eyes  that  seemed  too 
fixed  to  take  her  in. 

In  the  long,  long  silence  that  followed  no  one 
moved.  But  for  those  wild  eyes  Sybil  would  have 
thought  him  sleeping. 

Minutes  passed,  and  at  last  Curtis  spoke  under 
his  breath. 

"You  had  better  go.  You  can't  do  any 
more." 

But  she  would  not  stir.  She  had  a  feeling  that 
Robin  still  wanted  her. 

Suddenly  through  the  night  silence  there  came 
a  sound — the  hoof -beats  of  a  galloping  horse. 

She  turned  her  head  and  listened.  "What  is 
that?" 

As  if  in  answer,  Beelzebub's  black  face  appeared 
in  the  entrance.  His  eyes  were  distended  with 
fright. 

"Missis!"    he   hissed    in    a   guttural    whisper. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       237 

"Here's  Boss  comin'!"  and  disappeared  again  like 
a  monstrous  goblin. 

Sybil  glanced  up  at  Curtis.  "Don't  let  him 
come  here!"  she  said. 

But  for  once  he  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss.  He 
made  no  response  to  her  appeal.  While  they 
waited,  the  hoofs  drew  steadily  nearer,  thudding 
over  the  grass. 

"Mr.  Curtis!"  she  said  urgently. 

He  made  a  sharp,  despairing  gesture.  "I  can't 
help  it,"  he  said.  "You  must  go.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  don't  let  him  touch  you,  and  burn  the  clothes 
you  have  on  as  soon  as  possible !  I  am  going  to 
set  fire  to  this  place  immediately." 

"Going  to — set  fire  to  it?"  She  stared  at  him 
in  surprise,  still  scarcely  understanding. 

"The  poor  chap  is  dead,"  he  said.  "It's  the 
only  thing  to  do." 

She  turned  back  to  the  face  upon  the  pillow 
with  its  staring,  sightless  eyes.  She  raised  a  pity 
ing  hand  to  close  them,  but  Curtis  intervened. 

He  drew  her  to  her  feet.  "Go!  "he  said.  "Go! 
Keep  Mercer  away,  that's  all!" 

She  heard  the  jingling  of  a  horse's  bit  and  knew 
that  the  rider  was  very  near.  Mechanically  al 
most,  she  turned  from  the  place  of  death  and  went 
to  meet  him. 

XV 

HE  was  off  his  horse  and  striding  for  the  entrance 
when  she  encountered  him.  The  starlight  on  his 


238  Rosa  Mundi 

face  showed  it  livid  and  terrible.  At  sight  of  her 
he  stopped  short 

"Are  you  mad?"  he  said. 

They  were  the  identical  words  that  Curtis  had 
used;  but  his  voice,  hoarse,  unnatural,  told  her 
that  he  was  in  a  dangerous  mood. 

She  backed  away  from  him.  "Don't  come  near 
me!"  she  said  quickly.  "He — he  is  just  dead. 
And  I  have  been  with  him." 

"He?"  he  flung  at  her  furiously,  and  she  knew 
by  his  tone  that  he  suspected  the  truth. 

She  tried  to  answer  him  steadily,  but  her 
strength  was  beginning  to  fail  her.  The  long 
strain  was  telling  upon  her  at  last.  She  was 
uncertain  of  herself. 

"It — was  Robin  Went  worth,"  she  said. 

He  took  a  swift  stride  towards  her.  His  face 
was  convulsed  with  passion.  "You  came  here 
to  see  that  soddened  cur?"  he  said. 

She  shrank  away  from  him.  The  tempest  of  his 
anger  overwhelmed  her.  She  could  not  stand 
against  it.  For  the  first  time  she  quailed. 

"I  have  seen  him,"  she  said.  "And  he  is  dead. 
Ah,  don't — don't  touch  me!" 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her  cry.  He  seized  her 
by  the  shoulders  and  almost  swung  her  from  his 
path. 

"It  would  have  been  better  for  you,"  he  said 
between  his  teeth,  "if  he  had  died  before  you  got 
here.  You  have  begun  to  repent  already,  and 
you'll  go  on  repenting  for  the  rest  of  your  life." 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       239 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  cried,  seeing 
him  turn.  "Brett,  don't  go  in  there!  Don't! 
Don't !  You  must  not !  You  shall  not ! " 

In  a  frenzy  of  fear  she  threw  herself  upon  him, 
struggling  with  all  her  puny  strength  to  hold  him 
back. 

"I  tell  you  he  is  dead!"  she  gasped.  "Why  do 
you  want  to  go  in?" 

"I  am  going  to  see  for  myself,"  he  said  stub 
bornly,  putting  her  away. 

"No!  "she  cried.     "No!" 

His  eyes  gleamed  red  with  a  savage  fury  as 
she  clung  to  him  afresh.  He  caught  her  wrists, 
forcing  her  backwards. 

"I  don't  believe  he  is  dead!"  he  snarled. 

"He  is!    He  is!     Mr.  Curtis  told  me  so." 

"If  he  isn't,  I'll  murder  him!"  Brett  Mercer 
vowed,  and  flung  her  fiercely  from  him. 

She  fell  with  violence  and  lay  half -stunned, 
while  he,  blinded  with  rage,  possessed  by  devils, 
strode  forward  into  that  silent  place,  leaving  her 
prone. 

She  thought  later  that  she  must  have  fainted, 
for  the  next  thing  she  knew — and  it  must  have 
been  after  the  passage  of  several  minutes — was 
Mercer  kneeling  beside  her  and  lifting  her.  His 
touch  was  perfectly  gentle,  but  she  dared  not  look 
into  his  face.  She  cowered  in  his  arms  in  mortal 
fear.  He  had  crushed  her  at  last. 

"Have  I  hurt  you?"  he  said. 

She  did  not  answer.     Her  voice  was  gone.    She 


240  Rosa  Mundi 

was  as  powerless  as  an  infant.  He  raised  her  and 
bore  her  steadily  away. 

When  he  paused  finally,  it  was  to  speak  to 
Beelzebub,  who  was  holding  the  horses.  And 
then,  without  a  word  to  her,  he  lifted  her  up  on  to 
a  saddle,  and  mounted  himself  behind  her.  She 
lay  against  his  breast  as  one  dazed,  incapable  of 
speech  or  action.  And  so,  with  his  arm  about 
her,  moving  slowly  through  a  world  of  shadows, 
they  began  the  long,  long  journey  back. 

They  travelled  so  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
night,  and  during  the  whole  of  that  time  Mercer 
never  uttered  a  word.  The  horse  he  rode  was 
jaded,  and  he  did  not  press  it.  Beelzebub,  with 
the  other  two,  rode  far  ahead. 

It  was  still  dark  when  at  last  they  turned  in  to 
the  Home  Farm,  and,  still  in  that  awful  silence, 
Mercer  dismounted  and  lifted  his  wife  to  the  ground . 

He  set  her  on  her  feet,  but  her  limbs  trembled  so 
much  that  she  could  scarcely  stand.  He  kept  his 
arm  around  her,  and  led  her  into  the  house. 

He  took  her  to  her  room  and  left  her  there;  but 
in  a  few  minutes  he  returned  with  food  on  a  tray 
which  he  set  before  her  without  raising  his  eyes, 
and  again  departed.  She  did  not  see  him  again 
for  many  hours. 

XVI 

FROM  sheer  exhaustion  she  slept  at  last,  but  her 
sleep  was  broken  and  unrefreshing.  She  turned 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       241 

and  tossed,  dozing  and  waking  in  utter  weariness 
of  mind  and  body  till  the  day  was  far  advanced. 
Finally,  too  restless  to  lie  any  longer,  she  arose 
and  dressed. 

The  sound  of  voices  took  her  to  her  window 
before  she  left  her  room,  and  she  saw  her  husband 
on  horseback  with  Curtis  standing  by  his  side.  A 
sense  of  relief  shot  through  her  at  sight  of  the 
latter.  She  had  come  to  rely  upon  him  more  than 
she  knew.  While  she  watched,  Mercer  raised  his 
bridle  and  rode  slowly  away  without  a  backward 
glance.  And  again  she  was  conscious  of  relief. 

Curtis  stood  looking  after  him  for  a  few  seconds, 
then  turned  and  entered  the  house. 

She  met  him  in  the  passage  outside  her  room. 
He  greeted  her  gravely. 

' '  I  was  just  coming  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything 
for  you,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered  nervously.  "I  am 
better  now.  Where  has  my  husband  gone?" 

He  did  not  answer  her  immediately.  He  turned 
aside  to  the  room  in  which  she  generally  sat, 
standing  back  for  her  to  pass  him.  ' '  I  have  some 
thing  to  say  to  you,"  he  said. 

She  glanced  at  him  anxiously  as  she  took  the 
chair  he  offered  her. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "you  will  be  wise 
if  you  keep  absolutely  quiet  for  the  next  few  days. 
There  will  be  nothing  to  disturb  you.  Mercer  is 
not  returning  at  present.  He  has  left  you  in  my 
charge." 

16 


242  Rosa  Mundi 

"Oh,  why?  "she  said. 

Her  hands  were  locked  together.  She  had 
begun  to  tremble  from  head  to  foot. 

Curtis  was  watching  her  quietly. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  he  is  better  away  from 
you  for  a  time,  and  he  agrees  with  me." 

"Why?"  she  said  again,  lifting  her  piteous  eyes. 
"Is  he  so  angry  with  me?" 

"With  you?  No.  He  has  come  to  his  senses 
in  that  respect.  But  he  is  not  in  a  particularly  safe 
mood,  and  he  knows  it.  He  has  gone  to  fight  it  out 
by  himself." 

Curtis  paused,  but  Sybil  did  not  speak.  Her 
attitude  had  relaxed.  He  read  unmistakble  relief 
in  every  line. 

"Well,  now,"  he  said  deliberately,  "I  am  going 
to  tell  you  the  exact  truth  of  this  business,  as 
Mercer  himself  has  told  it  to  me." 

"He  wishes  me  to  know  it?"  she  asked  quickly. 

"He  is  willing  that  I  should  tell  you,"  Curtis 
answered.  "In  fact,  until  he  saw  me  to-day  he 
believed  that  you  knew  it  already.  That  was  the 
primary  cause  of  his  savagery  last  night.  You 
have  probably  formed  a  very  shrewd  suspicion  of 
what  happened,  but  it  is  better  for  you  to  know 
things  as  they  actually  stand.  If  it  makes  you 
hate  him — well,  it's  no  more  than  he  deserves." 

"Ah,  but  I  have  to  live  with  him, "  she  broke  in, 
with  sudden  passion.  "It  is  easy  for  you  to  talk 
of  hating  him,  but  I — I  am  his  wife.  I  must  go  on 
living  by  his  side,  whatever  I  may  feel." 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       243 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Curtis  said.  "But  it  won't 
make  it  any  easier  for  either  of  you  to  feel  that 
there  is  this  thing  between  you.  Even  he  sees  that. 
You  can't  forgive  him  if  you  don't  know  what  he 
has  done." 

"Then  why  doesn't  he  tell  me  himself?"  she 
said. 

"Because,"  Curtis  answered,  looking  at  her 
steadily,  "it  will  be  easier  for  you  to  hear  it  from 
me.  He  saw  that,  too." 

She  could  not  deny  it,  but  for  some  reason  it  hurt 
her  to  hear  him  say  so.  She  had  a  feeling  that  it 
was  to  Curtis's  insistence,  rather  than  to  her  hus 
band's  consideration,  that  she  owed  this  present 
respite. 

"I  will  listen  to  you,  then,"  she  said. 

Curtis  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"First,  with  regard  to  Wentworth,"  he  said. 
"There  was  a  time  once  when  he  occupied  very 
much  the  position  that  I  now  hold.  He  was 
Mercer's  right-hand  man.  But  he  took  to  drink, 
and  that  did  for  him.  I  am  afraid  he  was  never 
very  sound.  Anyhow,  Mercer  gave  him  up,  and 
he  disappeared. 

"After  he  had  gone,  after  I  took  his  place,  we 
found  out  one  or  two  things  he  had  done  which 
might  have  landed  him  in  prison  if  Mercer  had 
followed  them  up.  However,  the  man  was  gone, 
and  it  didn't  seem  worth  while  to  track  him.  It 
was  not  till  afterwards  that  we  heard  he  was  at 
Bowker  Creek,  and  Mercer  was  then  on  the  point 


244  Rosa  Mundi 

of  starting  for  England,  and  decided  to  leave  him 
alone. 

"It's  a  poor  place — Bowker  Creek.  He  had 
got  a  job  there  as  boundary  rider.  I  suppose  he 
counted  on  the  shearing  season  to  set  him  up. 
But  he  wasn't  the  sort  of  chap  who  ever  gets  on. 
And  when  Mercer  met  you  on  his  way  out  from 
the  old  country  it  was  something  of  a  shock  to  him 
to  hear  that  you  were  on  your  way  to  marry 
Robin  Wentworth. 

"Of  course,  he  ought  to  have  told  you  the  truth, 
but  instead  of  that  he  made  up  his  mind  to  take 
the  business  into  his  own  hands  and  marry  you 
himself.  He  cabled  from  Colombo  to  Wentworth 
to  wait  for  him  at  Bowker  Creek,  hinted  that  if 
he  went  to  the  coast  he  would  have  him  arrested, 
and  said  something  vague  about  coming  to  an 
understanding  which  induced  Wentworth  to  obey 
orders. 

"Then  he  came  straight  here  and  pressed  on  to 
Rollandstown,  taking  Beelzebub  with  him  to  show 
him  the  short  cuts.  It's  a  hard  day's  ride  in  any 
case.  He  reached  Bowker  Creek  the  day  after, 
and  had  it  out  with  Wentworth.  The  man  had 
been  drinking,  was  unreasonable,  furious,  finally 
tried  to  shoot  him. 

"Well,  you  know  Mercer.  He  won't  stand  that 
sort  of  thing.  He  thrashed  him  within  an  inch  of 
his  life,  and  then  made  him  write  and  give  you  up. 
It  was  a  despicable  affair  from  start  to  finish. 
Mercer's  only  excuse  was  that  Wentworth  was  not 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       245 

the  sort  of  man  to  make  any  woman  happy. 
Finally,  when  he  had  got  what  he  wanted,  Mercer 
left  him,  after  swearing  eternal  vengeance  on  him 
if  he  ever  came  within  reach  of  you.  The  rest 
you  know." 

Yes,  Sybil  knew  the  rest.  She  understood  the 
whole  story  from  beginning  to  end,  realized  with 
what  unscrupulous  ingenuity  she  had  been  trapped 
and  wondered  bitterly  if  she  would  ever  endure  her 
husband's  presence  again  without  the  shuddering 
sense  of  nausea  which  now  overcame  her  at  the 
bare  thought  of  him. 

She  sat  in  stony  silence,  till  at  last  Curtis  paused 
beside  her. 

"I  want  you  to  rest,"  he  said.  "I  think,  if  you 
don't,  the  consequences  may  be  serious." 

She  looked  up  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 

"Come,  Mrs.  Mercer!"  he  said. 

She  shrank  at  the  name. 

"Don't  call  me  that!"  she  said,  and  stumbled 
uncertainly  to  her  feet.  "I — I  am  going  away." 

He  put  a  steadying  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"You  can't,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  are  not 
fit  for  it.  Besides,  there  is  nowhere  for  you  to  go 
to.  But  I  will  get  Mrs.  Stevens,  the  innkeeper's 
wife  at  Wallarroo,  to  come  to  you  for  a  time.  She 
is  a  good  sort,  you  can  count  on  her.  As  for  Mer 
cer,  he  will  not  return  unless  you — or  I — send  for 
him." 

She  shivered  violently,  uncontrollably. 

"You  will  never  send  for  him?" 


246  Rosa  Mundi 

"Never,"  he  answered,  "unless  you  need  him." 

She  glanced  around  her  wildly.  Her  eyes  were 
hunted. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  gasped. 

"I  think  you  know  why  I  say  it,"  said  Curtis 
very  steadily. 

Her  hands  were  clenched. 

1 '  No ! "  she  cried  back  sharply.     "  No ! " 

Curtis  was  silent.  There  was  deep  compassion 
in  his  eyes. 

She  glanced  around  her  wildly.  Her  eyes  were 
on  his  eyes. 

She  shuddered  again,  shuddered  from  head  to 
foot. 

"If  I  thought  that,"  she  whispered,  "if  I 
thought  that,  I  would— 

"Hush!"  he  interposed  gently.  "Don't  say  it! 
Go  and  lie  down !  You  will  see  things  differently 
by  and  bye." 

She  knew  that  he  was  right,  and  worn  out, 
broken  as  she  was,  she  moved  to  obey  him.  But 
before  she  reached  the  door  her  little  strength  was 
gone.  She  felt  herself  sinking  swiftly  into  a  silence 
that  she  hoped  and  even  prayed  was  death.  She 
did  not  know  when  Curtis  lifted  her. 

XVII 

DURING  many  days  Sybil  lay  in  her  darkened 
room,  facing,  in  weariness  of  body  and  bitterness 
of  soul,  the  problem  of  life.  She  was  not  actually 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       247 

ill,  but  there  were  times  when  she  longed  intensely, 
passionately,  for  death.  She  was  weak,  physically 
and  mentally,  after  the  long  strain.  Courage  and 
endurance  had  alike  given  way  at  last.  She  had 
no  strength  with  which  to  face  what  lay  before 
her. 

So  far  as  outward  circumstances  went,  she  was 
in  good  hands.  Curtis  watched  over  her  with  a 
care  that  never  flagged,  and  the  innkeeper's  wife 
from  Wallarroo,  large  and  slow  and  patient,  was 
her  constant  attendant.  But  neither  of  them 
could  touch  or  in  any  way  soothe  the  perpetual 
pain  that  throbbed  night  and  day  in  the  girl's 
heart,  giving  her  no  rest. 

She  left  her  bed  at  length  after  many  days,  but 
it  was  only  to  wander  aimlessly  about  the  house, 
lacking  the  energy  to  employ  herself.  Her  nerves 
were  quieter,  but  she  still  started  at  any  sudden 
sound,  and  would  sit  as  one  listening  yet  dread 
ing  to  hear.  Her  husband's  name  never  passed 
her  lips,  and  Curtis  never  made  the  vaguest  refer 
ence  to  him.  He  knew  that  sooner  or  later  a 
change  would  come,  that  the  long  suffering  that 
lined  her  face  must  draw  at  last  to  a  climax; 
but  he  would  do  nothing  to  hasten  it.  He  be 
lieved  that  Nature  would  eventually  find  her  own 
remedy. 

But  Nature  is  ever  slow,  and  sometimes  the 
wheel  of  life  moves  too  quickly  for  her  methods 
to  take  effect. 

Sybil  was  sitting  one  day  by  an  open  window 


248  Rosa  Mundi 

when  Beelzebub  dashed  suddenly  into  view.  He 
was  on  horseback,  riding  barebacked,  and  was 
evidently  in  a  ferment  of  excitement.  He  bawled 
some  incoherent  words  as  he  passed  the  window, 
words  which  Sybil  could  not  distinguish,  but  which 
nevertheless  sent  a  sharp  sense  of  foreboding 
through  her  heart.  Had  he — or  had  he  not- 
yelled  something  to  her  about  "Boss"?  She 
could  not  possibly  have  said,  but  the  suspicion  was 
sufficiently  strong  to  rouse  her  to  lean  out  of  the 
window  and  try  to  catch  something  of  what  the 
boy  was  saying. 

He  had  reached  the  yard,  and  had  flung  himself 
off  the  sweating  animal.  As  she  peered  forth  she 
caught  sight  of  Curtis  coming  out  of  the  stable. 
Beelzebub  saw  him  too,  and  broke  out  afresh 
with  his  wild  cry.  This  time,  straining  her  ears 
to  listen,  she  caught  the  words,  all  jumbled 
together  though  they  were. 

"Boss  got  smallpox!" 

She  saw  Curtis  stop  dead,  and  she  wondered  if 
his  heart,  like  hers,  had  ceased  to  beat.  The  next 
instant  he  moved  forward,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  saw  him  deliberately  punch  the  gesticulating 
negro's  woolly  head.  Beelzebub  cried  out  like  a 
whipped  dog  and  slunk  back.  Then,  very  calmly, 
Curtis  took  him  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck,  and 
began  to  question  him. 

Sybil  stood,  gripping  the  curtain,  and  watched 
it  all  as  one  watches  a  scene  on  the  stage.  Some 
how,  though  she  knew  herself  to  be  vitally  con- 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       249 

cerned,  she  felt  no  agitation.  It  was  as  if  the  blood 
had  ceased  to  run  in  her  veins. 

At  length  she  saw  Curtis  release  the  palpitating 
Beelzebub,  and  turn  towards  the  house.  Quite 
calmly  she  also  turned. 

They  met  in  the  passage. 

"You  needn't  trouble  to  keep  it  from  me,"  she 
said.  "I  know." 

He  gave  her  a  keen  look. 

"I  am  going  to  him  at  once,"  was  all  he  said. 

She  stood  quite  still,  facing  him;  and  suddenly 
she  was  conscious  of  a  great  glow  pulsing  through 
her,  as  though  some  arrested  force  had  been  set 
free.  She  knew  that  her  heart  was  beating  again, 
strongly,  steadily,  fearlessly. 

"I  shall  come  with  you,"  she  said. 

She  saw  his  face  change. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  that  is  out  of  the 
question.  You  must  know  it." 

She  answered  him  instantly,  unhesitatingly, 
with  some  of  the  old,  quick  spirit  that  had  won 
Brett  Mercer's  heart. 

"There  you  are  wrong.  I  know  it  to  be  the 
only  thing  possible  for  me  to  do." 

Curtis  looked  at  her  for  a  second  as  if  he  scarcely 
knew  her,  and  then  abruptly  abandoned  the 
argument. 

"I  will  not  be  responsible,"  he  said,  turning 
aside. 

And  she  answered  him  unfalteringly : 

"I  will  take  the  responsibility." 


250  Rosa  Mundi 

XVIII 

SLOWLY  Brett  Mercer  raised  himself  and  tried 
to  peer  through  his  swollen  eyelids  at  the  door. 

"Don't  bring  any  woman  here!"  he  mumbled. 

The  effort  to  see  was  fruitless.  He  sank  back, 
blind  and  tortured,  upon  the  pillow.  He  had  been 
taken  ill  at  one  of  his  own  outlying  farms,  and  here 
he  had  lain  for  days — a  giant  bereft  of  his  strength, 
waiting  for  death. 

His  only  attendant  was  a  farm-hand  who  had 
had  the  disease,  but  knew  nothing  of  its  treatment, 
who  was,  moreover,  afraid  to  go  near  him. 

Curtis  took  in  the  whole  situation  at  a  glance  as 
he  bent  over  him. 

"Why  didn't  you  send  for  me?"  he  said. 

"That  you?"  gasped  Mercer.  "Man,  I'm  in 
hell !  Can't  you  give  me  something  to  put  me  out 
of  my  misery?" 

Curtis  was  already  at  work  over  him. 

"No,"  he  said  briefly.  "I'm  going  to  pull  you 
through.  You're  wanted." 

' '  You  lie ! ' '  gasped  back  Mercer,  and  said  no  more. 

Some  hours  after,  starting  suddenly  from  fevered 
sleep,  he  asked  an  abrupt  question : 

"Does  my  wife  know?" 

"Yes,  she  knows,"  Curtis  answered. 

He  flung  his  arms  wide  with  a  bitter  gesture. 
"She'll  soon  be  free,"  he  said. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,"  said  Curtis,  in  his  quiet, 
unemotional  style. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       251 

"You  can't  make  me  live  against  my  will,"  mut 
tered  Mercer. 

"Don't  talk  like  a  fool!"  responded  Curtis. 

Late  that  night  a  hand  that  was  not  Curtis's 
smoothed  the  sick  man's  pillow,  and  presently  gave 
him  nourishment.  He  noticed  the  difference  in 
stantly,  though  he  could  not  open  his  eyes;  but  he 
said  nothing  at  the  time,  and  she  fancied  he  did 
not  know  her. 

But  presently,  when  she  thought  him  sleeping, 
he  spoke. 

' '  When  did  you  come  ? ' ' 

Even  then  she  was  not  sure  that  he  was  in  his 
right  mind.  His  face  was  so  swollen  and  dis 
figured  that  it  told  her  nothing.  She  answered 
him  very  softly : 

"I  came  with  Mr.  Curtis." 

"Why?"  That  one  word  told  her  that  he  was 
in  full  possession  of  his  senses.  He  moved  his 
head  to  and  fro  on  the  pillow  as  one  vainly  seeking 
rest.  "Did  you  want  to  see  me  in  hell?"  he 
questioned  harshly. 

She  leaned  towards  him.  She  was  sitting  by 
his  bed. 

"No,"  she  said,  speaking  under  her  breath. 
"I  came  because — because  it  was  the  only  way  out 
—for  us  both." 

"What?"  he  said,  and  the  old  impatient  frown 
drew  his  forehead.  ' '  You  came  to  see  me  die,  then  ? ' ' 

"I  came,"  she  answered,  "to  try  and  make  you 
live." 


252  Rosa  Mundi 

He  drew  a  breath  that  was  a  groan. 

"You  won't  succeed,"  he  said. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked. 

Again  feverishly  he  moved  his  head,  and  she 
smoothed  his  pillow  afresh  with  hands  that 
trembled. 

"Don't  touch  me!"  he  said  sharply.  "What 
was  Curtis  dreaming  of  to  bring  you  here? " 

"Mr.  Curtis  couldn't  help  it,"  she  answered, 
with  more  assurance.  "I  came."  And  then 
after  a  moment,  "Are  you — sorry — I  came? " 

"Yes,"  he  muttered. 

"Oh,  why?"  she  said. 

"I  would  sooner  die — without  you  looking 
on,"  he  said,  forcing  out  his  words  through  set 
teeth. 

"Oh,  why?"  she  said  again.  "Don't  you  be 
lieve — can't  you  believe — that  I  want  you  to 
live?" 

"No,"  he  groaned. 

"Not  if  I  swear  it?"  she  asked,  her  voice  sunk 
very  low. 

"No!"  He  flung  the  word  with  something  of 
his  ancient  ferocity.  She  was  torturing  him  past 
endurance.  He  even  madly  hoped  that  he  could 
scare  her  away. 

But  Sybil  made  no  move  to  go.  She  sat  quite 
still  for  a  few  seconds.  Then  slowly  she  went  down 
upon  her  knees  beside  his  pillow. 

"Brett,"  she  said,  and  he  felt  her  breath  quick 
and  tremulous  upon  his  face  as  she  spoke,  "you 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       253 

may  refuse  to  believe  what  I  say.  But — I  can 
convince  you  without  words." 

And  before  he  knew  her  meaning,  she  had 
pressed  her  quivering  lips  to  his. 

He  recoiled,  with  an  anguished  sound  that 
was  half  of  protest  and  half  of  unutterable 
pain. 

"Do  you  want  to  die  too?"  he  said.  "Or  don't 
you  know  the  risk?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  answered.  "I  know  it," 
and  in  her  voice  was  such  a  thrill  of  passion  as  he 
had  never  heard  or  thought  to  hear  from  her. 
' '  But  I  know  this,  too,  and  I  mean  that  you  shall 
know  it.  My  life  is  nothing  to  me — do  you 
understand? — nothing,  unless  you  share  it.  Now 
—will  you  believe  me?" 

Yes,  he  believed  her  then.  He  had  no  choice. 
The  knowledge  was  as  a  sword  cutting  its  way 
straight  to  his  heart.  He  tried  to  answer  her, 
tried  desperately  hard,  because  he  knew  that  she 
was  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  that  his  silence 
would  hurt  her  who  from  that  day  forward  he 
would  never  hurt  again. 

But  no  words  would  come.  He  could  not  force 
his  utterance.  The  power  of  speech  was  gone 
from  him.  He  turned  his  face  away  from  her  in 
choking  tears. 

And  Sybil  knew  that  the  victory  was  hers. 
Those  tears  were  more  to  her  than  words.  She 
knew  that  he  would  live — if  he  could — for  her 
sake. 


254  Rosa  Mundi 

XIX 

IT  was  more  than  six  weeks  later  that  Brett 
Mercer  and  his  wife  turned  in  at  the  Home 
Farm,  as  they  had  turned  in  on  that  memor 
able  night  that  he  had  brought  his  bride  from 
Wallarroo. 

Now,  as  then,  Curtis  was  ready  for  them  in  the 
open  doorway,  and  Beelzebub  advanced  grinning 
to  take  the  horses.  But  there  the  resemblance 
ceased.  The  woman  who  entered  with  her  hus 
band  leaning  on  her  shoulder  was  no  nervous, 
shrinking  stranger,  but  a  wife  entering  her  home 
with  gladness,  bearing  her  burden  with  rejoicing. 
The  woman  from  Wallarroo  looked  at  her  with 
a  doubtful  sort  of  sympathy.  She  also  looked  at 
the  gaunt,  bowed  man  who  accompanied  her, 
and  questioned  with  herself  if  this  were  indeed 
Brett  Mercer. 

Brett  Mercer  it  undoubtedly  was,  nor  could  she 
have  said,  save  for  his  slow,  stooping  gait,  wherein 
lay  the  change  that  so  amazed  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  more  apparent  in  Sybil  than  in 
the  man  himself  as  she  raised  her  face  on  entering, 
and  murmured : 

"So  good  to  get  home  again,  isn't  it,  dear?" 

He  did  not  speak  in  answer.  He  scarcely  spoke 
at  all  that  night.  But  his  silence  satisfied  her. 

It  was  not  till  the  following  morning  that 
he  stretched  out  a  great,  bony  hand  to  her  as 
she  waited  on  him,  and  drew  her  down  to  his  side. 


The  Prey  of  the  Dragon       255 

"There  has  been  enough  of  this,"  he  said,  with  a 
touch  of  his  old  imperiousness.  ' '  You  have  worked 
too  hard  already,  harder  than  I  ever  meant  you  to 
work.  You  are  to  take  a  rest,  and  get  strong." 

She  uttered  her  gay  little  laugh. 

"My  dearest  Brett,  I  am  strong." 

He  lay  staring  at  her  in  his  most  direct,  dis 
concerting  fashion.  She  endured  his  look  for  a 
moment,  and  then  averted  her  eyes.  She  would 
have  risen,  but  he  prevented  her. 

"Sybil!"  he  said  abruptly. 

"Yes?"  she  answered,  with  her  head  bent. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  me?"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head  instantly. 

"Don't  be  absurd!" 

"Then  look  at  me!"  he  said. 

She  raised  her  eyes  slowly,  not  very  willingly. 
But,  having  raised  them,  she  kept  them  so,  for 
there  was  that  in  his  look  which  no  longer  made 
her  shy. 

He  made  a  slight  gesture  towards  her  that  was 
rather  of  invitation  than  insistence. 

"Don't  you  think  I'm  nearly  well  enough  to  be 
let  into  the  secret?"  he  said. 

His  action,  his  tone,  above  all  his  look,  broke 
down  the  last  of  the  barrier  between  them.  She 
went  into  his  arms  with  a  shaky  little  laugh,  and 
hid  her  face  against  him. 

"I  would  have  told  you  long  ago,"  she  whis 
pered,  "only  somehow — I  couldn't.  Besides,  I 
was  so  sure  that  you  knew." 


256  Rosa  Mundi 

"Oh,  yes,  I  knew,"  said  Mercer.  "Curtis  saw 
to  that;  literally  flayed  me  with  it  till  I  took  his 
advice  and  cleared  out.  You  know,  I've  often 
wondered  since  if  it  was  that  that  made  you  want 
me,  after  all." 

She  shook  her  head,  still  with  her  face  against 
his  breast. 

"No,  dear,  it  wasn't.  It — it  made  things  worse 
at  first.  It  was  only  when  I  heard  you  were  ill 
that — that  I  found — quite  suddenly — that  I 
couldn't  possibly  go  on  without  you.  It  was  as 
if — as  if  something  bound  round  my  heart  had 
suddenly  given  way,  and  I  could  breathe  again. 
When  I  saw  you  I  knew  how  terribly  I  wanted 
you." 

"And  that  was  how  you  came  to  kiss  me  with 
that  loathsome  disease  upon  me?"  he  whispered. 
"That  was  what  made  you  follow  me  down  to  hell 
to  bring  me  back?" 

She  turned  her  face  upwards.  Her  eyes  were 
shining. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  and  in  her  voice  was  a 
thrill  like  the  first  sweet  notes  of  a  bird  in  the 
dawning,  "you  don't  need  to  ask  me  why  did 
these  things.  For  you  know — you  know.  It  was 
simply  and  only  because  I  loved  you." 

"Heaven  knows  why,"  he  said,  as  he  bent  to  kiss 
her. 

"Heavens  knows,"  she  answered,  and  softly 
laughed  as  she  surrendered  her  lips  to  his. 


The   Secret   Service   Man 


A  TIGHT  PLACE 

"SHOULDER  to  shoulder,  boys!  Give  it  'em 
straight!  There's  no  going  back  this  journey." 
And  the  speaker  slapped  his  thigh  and  laughed. 

He  was  penned  in  a  hot  corner  with  a  handful  of 
grinning  little  Goorkhas,  as  ready  and  exultant 
as  himself.  He  had  no  earthly  business  in  that 
particular  spot.  But  he  had  won  his  way  there  in 
a  hand-to-hand  combat,  which  had  rendered  that 
bit  of  ground  the  most  desirable  abiding-place  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  And  being  there  he  meant 
to  stay. 

He  was  established  with  the  inimitable 
effrontery  of  British  insolence.  He  had  pushed  on 
through  the  dark,  fired  by  the  enthusiasm  which  is 
born  of  hard  resistence.  It  had  been  no  slight 
matter,  but  neither  he  nor  his  men  were  to  be  easily 
dismayed.  Moreover,  their  patience  had  been 
severely  tried  for  many  tedious  hours,  and  the 
removal  of  the  curb  had  gone  to  their  heads  like 
wine. 

17  257 


258  Rosa  Mundi 

Young  Derrick  Rose,  war  correspondent,  was 
hot  of  head  and  ready  of  hand.  He  had  a  knack 
also  of  getting  into  tight  places  and  extricating 
himself  therefrom  with  amazing  agility;  which 
knack  served  to  procure  for  him  the  admiration  of 
his  friends  and  the  respect  of  his  enemies.  It  was 
his  first  Frontier  campaign,  but  it  was  not  appar 
ently  destined  to  be  his  last,  for  he  bore  a  charmed 
life.  And  he  went  his  way  with  a  cheery  reckless 
ness  that  seemed  its  own  security. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  had  planted  himself, 
with  a  serene  assumption  of  authority,  at  the  head 
of  a  handful  of  Goorkhas  who  had  been  pressed 
forward  too  far  by  an  over-zealous  officer  in  the 
darkness,  and  had  lost  their  leader  in  consequence. 

Derrick  had  stumbled  on  the  group  and  had 
forthwith  taken  upon  himself  to  direct  them  to  a 
position  which,  with  a  good  deal  of  astuteness,  he 
had  marked  out  in  his  own  mind  earlier  in  the  day 
as  a  desirable  acquisition. 

There  had  been  a  hand-to-hand  scuffle  in  the 
darkness,  and  then  the  tribesmen  had  fallen  back, 
believing  themselves  overwhelmed  by  superior 
numbers. 

Derrick  and  his  Goorkhas  had  promptly  taken 
possession  of  the  rocky  eminence  which  was  the 
object  of  their  desire,  and  now  prepared,  with  com 
mendable  determination,  to  maintain  themselves 
at  the  post  thus  captured ;  an  impossible  feat  in  con 
sideration  of  the  paucity  of  their  numbers,  which 
fact  a  wily  enemy  had  already  begun  to  suspect. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       259 

That  the  main  force  could  by  any  means  fail 
them  was  a  possibility  over  which  for  long  neither 
Derrick  nor  his  followers  wasted  a  thought. 
Nevertheless  half-an-hour  of  mad  turmoil  passed, 
and  no  help  came. 

Derrick  charitably  set  down  its  non-appearance 
to  ignorance  of  his  state  and  whereabouts,  and  he 
began  at  length  to  wonder  within  himself  how  the 
place  was  to  be  defended  throughout  the  night. 
Retreat  he  would  not  think  of,  for  he  was  game 
to  the  finger-tips.  But  even  he  could  not  fail  to  see 
that,  when  the  moon  rose,  he  and  his  followers 
would  be  in  a  very  tight  fix. 

"Confound  their  caution!  What  are  they 
thinking  of?"  he  muttered  savagely.  "If  they 
only  came  straight  ahead  they  would  be  bound 
to  find  us." 

And  then  a  yelling  crowd  of  dim  figures  breasted 
the  rocks  and  dashed  forward  with  the  force  of  a 
hurricane  upon  the  little  body  of  Goorkhas.  In  a 
second  Derrick  was  fighting  in  the  dark  with  mad 
enthusiasm  for  bare  foothold,  and  shouting  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  exhortations  to  his  men  to  keep 
together. 

It  was  a  desperate  struggle,  but  once  more  the 
little  party  of  invaders  held  their  ground.  And 
Derrick,  yelling  encouragement  to  his  friends  and 
defiance  to  his  foes,  became  vaguely  conscious  of  a 
new  element  in  the  strife. 

Someone,  not  a  Goorkha,  was  standing  beside 
him,  fighting  as  he  fought,  but  in  grim  silence. 


260  Rosa  Mundi 

Derrick  wondered  considerably,  but  was  too 
busy  to  ask  questions.  Only  when  he  missed  his 
footing,  and  a  strong  hand  shot  out  and  dragged 
him  up,  his  wonder  turned  to  admiration.  Here 
was  evidently  a  mighty  fighting-man! 

The  tribesmen  drew  off  at  length  baffled,  to  wait 
for  the  moon  to  rise.  They  were  pretty  sure  of 
their  prey  despite  the  determined  resistance  they 
had  encountered.  They  did  not  know  of  the  new 
force  that  had  come  to  strengthen  that  forsaken 
little  knot  of  men.  Had  they  known,  their  esti 
mate  of  the  task  before  them  would  have  under 
gone  a  very  material  amendment. 

"Hullo!"  said  Derrick,  rubbing  his  sleeve  across 
his  forehead.  "Where  on  earth  did  you  spring 
from?" 

A  steady  voice  answered  him  out  of  the  gloom. 
"I  came  up  from  the  valley.  The  troops  are 
halted  at  the  entrance  of  the  ravine.  There  will 
be  no  further  advance  to-night." 

Derrick  swore  a  sudden,  fierce  oath. 

"No  further  advance!  Do  you  mean  that? 
Then  Carlyon  doesn't  know  we  are  here." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  knows,"  answered  the  man  in 
differently.  "But  he  says  very  reasonably 
that  he  didn't  order  you  to  come  up  here, 
and  he  can't  sacrifice  twice  the  number  of  men 
here  to  get  you  down  again.  Unfortunate  for 
you,  of  course;  but  we  all  have  to  swallow  bad 
luck  at  one  time  or  another.  Make  the  best 
of  it!" 


The  Secret  Service  Man       261 

Derrick  swore  again  with  less  violence  and 
greater  resolution. 

"And  who,  in  wonder,  may  you  be?"  he  broke 
off  to  enquire.  "I'm  a  war  correspondent  my 
self." 

There  was  a  vein  of  humour  in  the  quiet  reply. 

"Oh,  I'm  a  non-combatant,  too.  It's  always 
the  non-combatants  that  do  the  work.  Have  you 
got  a  revolver?  Good!  Any  cartridges?  That's 
right.  Now,  look  here,  it's  out  of  the  question  to 
remain  in  this  place  till  moonrise." 

"I  won't  go  back,"  said  Derrick  doggedly. 
"I'll  see  Carlyon  hang  first." 

"Quite  right.  I  wrasn't  going  to  propose  that. 
It's  impossible,  in  the  first  place.  Perhaps  it  is 
only  fair  to  Colonel  Carlyon  to  mention  that  he 
had  no  notion  that  there  is  anything  so  important 
as  a  newspaper  man  at  the  head  of  this  expedition. 
It's  a  detail,  of  course.  Still,  if  you  get  through, 
it  is  just  as  well  that  you  should  know  the  rights 
of  the  case." 

Derrick  broke  into  an  involuntary  laugh. 

"Did  Carlyon  get  you  to  come  and  tell  me  so?" 
He  turned  and  peered  through  the  darkness  at  the 
man  beside  him.  ' '  You  never  got  up  here  alone  ? ' ' 
he  said  incredulously. 

' '  Oh,  yes.  It  wasn't  difficult.  I  was  guided  by 
the  noise  you  made.  How  many  men  have  you  ?' ' 

"Ten  or  twelve;  not  more — all  Goorkhas." 

"Good!  We  must  quit  this  place  at  once.  It 
will  be  a  death-trap  when  the  moon  rises.  There 


262  Rosa  Mundi 

are  some  boulders  higher  up,  away  to  the  right. 
We  can  occupy  them  till  morning  and  fight  back 
to  back  if  they  try  to  rush  us.  There  ought  to  be 
plenty  of  shelter  among  those  rocks." 

The  man's  cool  speech  caught  Derrick's  fancy. 
He  spoke  as  quietly  as  if  he  were  sitting  at  an 
English  dinner-table. 

"You  had  better  take  command,"  said  Derrick. 

"No,  thanks;  you  are  going  to  pull  this  through. 
Are  you  ready  to  move  ?  Pass  the  word  to  the  men ! 
And  then  all  together!  It  is  now  or  never!" 

A  few  seconds  later  they  were  stumbling  in  an 
indistinguishable  mass  towards  the  haven  indi 
cated  by  the  latest  comer.  It  was  a  difficult 
scramble,  not  the  least  difficult  part  of  it  being  the 
task  of  keeping  in  touch  with  each  other.  But 
Derrick's  spirits  returned  at  a  bound  with  this  fur 
ther  adventure,  and  he  began  to  rejoice  somewhat 
prematurely  in  his  triumph  over  Carlyon's  caution. 

The  man  who  had  come  to  his  assistance  kept 
at  his  elbow  throughout  the  climb.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken.  The  men  moved  like  cats  through 
the  dimness.  Below  them  was  a  confused  din  of 
rifle-firing.  Their  advance  had  evidently  not  been 
detected. 

' '  Silly  owls !  Wasting  their  ammunition ! ' '  mur 
mured  Derrick  to  the  man  beside  him.  He  re 
ceived  no  response.  A  warning  hand  closed  with 
a  grip  on  his  elbow.  And  Derrick  subsided. 

When  the  moon  rose,  magnificent  and  glowing 
from  behind  the  mountains,  Derrick  and  his  men 


The  Secret  Service  Man       263 

looked  down  from  a  high  perch  on  the  hillside,  and 
watched  a  furious  party  of  tribesmen  charge  and 
occupy  their  abandoned  position. 

"Now,  this  is  good!"  said  Derrick,  and  he  was 
in  the  act  of  firing  his  revolver  into  the  thick  of  the 
crowd  below  him  when  again  the  sinewy  hand  of 
his  unknown  friend  checked  him. 

' '  Hold  your  fire,  man ! ' '  the  man  said,  in  his  quiet, 
unmoved  voice.  "You  will  want  it  presently." 

But  the  stranger's  hold  tightened.  He  was 
standing  in  the  shadow  slightly  behind  Derrick. 

"Wait!"  he  said.  "They  will  find  you  soon 
enough.  You  are  not  in  a  position  to  take  the 
offensive." 

Derrick  swung  round  with  a  restless  word.  And 
then  he  pulled  up  short.  He  was  facing  a  tribes 
man,  gaunt  and  tall,  with  odd,  light  eyes  that 
glittered  strangely  in  the  moonlight.  Derrick 
stared  at  the  apparition,  dumbfounded.  After 
a  pause  the  man  took  his  hand  from  the  corre 
spondent's  arm. 

"Don't  give  the  show  away  for  want  of  a  little 
caution ! "  he  said.  "There  are  your  men  to  think 
of,  remember.  This  is  no  picnic." 

Derrick  was  still  staring  hard  at  the  strange 
figure  before  him. 

"I  say,"  he  said  at  length,  "what  in  the  name  of 
wonder  are  you?" 

He  heard  a  faint,  contemptuous  laugh.  The 
unknown  drew  the  end  of  his  chuddah  farther  across 
his  face. 


264  Rosa  Mundi 

You  are  marvellously  guileless  for  a  war  corre 
spondent,"  he  said.  And  he  turned  on  his  heel 
and  stalked  away  into  the  shadows. 

Derrick  stood  gazing  after  him  in  stupefaction. 

"A  Secret  Service  agent,  is  he?"  he  murmured 
at  length  to  himself.  ' '  By  Jove !  What  a  marvel 
lous  fake!  On  Carlyon's  business,  I  suppose. 
Confound  Carlyon!  I'll  tell  him  what  I  think  of 
him  if  I  come  through  this  all  right." 

Carlyon,  in  times  of  peace,  was  one  of  Derrick 
Rose's  most  intimate  friends.  That  Carlyon, 
upon  whom  he  relied  as  upon  a  tower  of  strength 
should  fail  him  at  such  a  pinch  as  this,  and  for 
motives  of  caution  alone,  was  a  circumstance  so 
preposterous  and  unheard-of  that  Derrick's  credu 
lity  was  hardly  equal  to  the  strain. 

He  began  to  wonder  if  this  stranger  who  had 
guided  him  into  safety,  from  what  he  now  real 
ized  to  be  a  positive  death-trap,  had  given  him 
a  wholly  unexaggerated  account  of  Carlyon's 
attitude. 

He  waited  awhile,  thinking  the  matter  over 
with  rising  indignation ;  and  at  length,  as  the  noise 
below  him  subsided,  he  moved  from  his  shelter 
to  find  his  informant.  It  was  a  rash  thing  to  do, 
but  prudence  was  not  his  strong  point.  Moreover, 
the  Secret  Service  man  had  aroused  his  curiosity. 
He  wanted  to  see  more  of  this  fellow.  So,  with  an 
indifference  to  danger,  foolhardy,  though  too 
genuine  to  be  contemptible,  he  strolled  across  an 
unprotected  space  of  moonlight  to  join  him. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       265 

Two  seconds  later  he  was  lying  on  his  face, 
struggling  with  the  futile,  convulsive  effort  of  a 
stricken  man  to  recover  his  footing.  And  even 
while  he  struggled,  he  lost  consciousness. 

He  awoke  at  length  as  one  awakes  from  a 
troublous  dream,  and  looked  about  him  with  a 
dazed  consciousness  of  great  tumult. 

The  space  in  which  he  lay  was  no  longer  wide  and 
empty.  The  white  world  was  peopled  with  demons 
that  leapt  and  surged  around  his  prostrate  body. 
And  someone,  a  man  in  white,  with  naked,  uplifted 
arms,  stood  above  him  and  quelled  the  tumult. 

Derrick  saw  it  all,  heard  the  mad  yells  lessen  and 
die  down,  watched  with  a  dumb  amazement  the 
melting  away  of  the  fierce  crowd. 

And  then  the  man  who  stood  over  him  turned 
suddenly  and,  kneeling,  lifted  him  from  his  pro 
strate  position.  It  was  a  man  in  native  dress  whose 
eyes  held  for  Derrick  an  odd,  half -familiar  fas 
cination. 

Where  had  he  met  those  eyes  before?  Ah,  he 
remembered.  It  was  the  Secret  Service  man. 
And  that  was  strange,  too.  For  Carlyon  always 
scoffed  at  Secret  Service  men.  Still,  this  was  a 
small  matter  which,  no  doubt,  would  right  itself. 
Everything  looked  a  little  peculiar  and  distorted 
on  this  night  of  wonders.  Carlyon  himself  had 
sadly  degenerated  in  his  opinion  since  the  morn 
ing.  Bother  Carlyon ! 

Suddenly  a  great  sigh  burst  from  Derrick,  and 
the  moonlight  broke  up  into  tiny,  dazzling  frag- 


266  Rosa  Mundi 

ments.  The  darkness  was  full  of  them,  alive  with 
them. 

"Fire-flies!"  gasped  Derrick,  and  began  to 
cough,  at  first  slowly,  with  pauses  for  breath,  then 
quickly,  spasmodically,  convulsively.  For  breath 
had  finally  failed  him. 

The  arm  behind  him  raised  him  with  the  steady 
strength  of  iron  muscles,  and  a  hand  pressed  his 
chest.  But  the  coughing  did  not  cease.  It  was 
the  anguished  strife  of  wounded  Nature  to  assert 
her  damaged  authority;  the  wild,  last  effort  to 
clutch  and  hold  fast  the  elusive  torch  that,  flicker 
ing  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  is  called  life — the  one 
priceless  possession  of  our  little  mortal  treasury. 

And  while  he  coughed  and  fought  with  the 
demon  of  suffocation  Derrick  was  strongly  aware 
of  the  eyes  that  watched  him,  burning  like  two 
brilliant  blue  points  out  of  the  darkness.  Wonder 
ful  eyes!  Steady,  strong,  unflinching.  The  eyes 
of  a  friend — a  true  friend — not  such  an  one  as 
Carlyon — Carlyon  who  had  failed  him. 

A  thick,  unexplored  darkness  fell  upon  Derrick 
as  he  thought  of  Carlyon's  desertion ;  and  he  forgot 
at  length  to  wonder  at  the  strangeness  of  the  night. 

II 

A  BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP 

BY  and  bye,  when  the  light  dawned  in  his  eyes, 
Derrick  began  to  dream  of  many  strange  things. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       267 

But  he  came  back  at  last  out  of  the  shadows, 
weak  and  faint  and  weary.  And  then  he  found 
that  he  was  in  hospital  and  had  been  there  for 
weeks. 

The  discovery  was  rather  staggering.  Some 
how  he  had  never  quite  rid  himself  of  the  impres 
sion  that  he  was  still  lying  on  the  great,  rocky 
boulder  where  the  Secret  Service  man  had  so 
magically  scattered  his  enemies.  But  as  life  and 
full  consciousness  returned  to  him  he  became  aware 
that  this  had  for  weeks  been  no  more  than  a  fevered 
illusion. 

When  he  was  at  length  fairly  out  of  danger  he 
was  dispatched  southwards  on  the  first  stage  of 
the  homeward  journey. 

He  sailed  for  Home  with  his  resentment  against 
Carlyon  yet  strong  upon  him.  He  had  no  parents. 
In  his  reckless  young  days,  during  the  last  three 
years  of  his  minority,  Carlyon  had  been  this  boy's 
guardian.  But  Derrick  had  been  his  own  master 
for  nearly  four  years,  and  the  conscious  joy  of 
independence  was  yet  dear  to  his  heart.  He  had 
no  settled  home  of  his  own,  but  he  had  plenty  of 
money.  And  that,  after  all,  was  the  essential 
thing. 

He  had  been  brought  up  with  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman  in  whose  home  he  had  lived  all  his  early 
life.  The  two  had  grown  up  together  in  close  com 
panionship.  They  had  been  comrades  all  their 
lives. 

Only  of  recent  years,  at  the  end  of  an  uneventful 


268  Rosa  Mundi 

college  career,  had  Derrick  awakened  to  the 
astounding  fact  that  Averil  Eversley,  his  little 
playmate,  was  a  maiden  sweet  and  comely  whom 
he  wanted  badly  for  his  very  own.  She  was  three 
years  younger  than  himself,  but  she  had  always 
taken  the  lead  in  all  their  exploits. 

Derrick  discovered  for  the  first  time  that  this 
was  not  a  proper  state  of  affairs.  He  had  tried, 
not  over  tactfully,  to  show  her  that  man  was,  after 
all,  the  superior  animal.  Averil  had  first  stared 
at  his  efforts,  and  then  laughed  with  uncontrollable 
mirth. 

Then  Derrick  had  set  to  work  with  splendid 
energy,  and  achieved  in  two  years  a  certain  amount 
of  literary  success.  Averil  had  praised  him  for 
this ;  which  reward  of  merit  had  so  turned  his  head 
that  he  had  at  once  clumsily  proposed  to  her. 
Averil  had  not  laughed  at  that.  She  had  rejected 
him  instantly,  with  so  severe  a  scolding  that  Der 
rick  had  lost  his  temper,  and  gone  away  to  sulk. 
Later,  he  had  turned  his  attention  again  to  journal 
istic  work,  hoping  thereby  to  recover  favour. 

Then,  and  this  had  brought  him  to  the  previous 
winter,  he  had  returned  to  find  Averil  going  in  for 
a  little  innocent  hero-worship  on  her  own  account. 
And  Carlyon,  his  own  particular  friend  and  adviser, 
had  happened  to  be  the  hero. 

Whether  Carlyon  were  aware  of  the  state  of 
affairs  or  not,  Derrick  in  his  wrath  had  not  stopped 
to  enquire.  He  had  simply  and  blindly  gone  direct 
to  the  attack,  with  the  result  that  Averil  had  been 


The  Secret  Service  Man       269 

deeply  and  irreconcilably  offended,  and  Carlyon 
had  so  nearly  kicked  him  for  making  such  a  fool  of 
himself  that  Derrick  had  retired  in  disgust  from  the 
fray,  had  clamoured  for  and,  with  infinite  difficulty, 
obtained  a  post  as  war-correspondent  in  the  en 
suing  Frontier  campaign,  and  had  departed  on 
his  adventurous  way,  sulking  hard. 

Later,  Carlyon  had  sought  him  out,  had  shaken 
hands  with  him,  called  him  an  impetuous  young 
ass,  and  had  enjoined  him  to  stick  to  himself 
during  the  expedition  in  which  Derrick  was  thus 
recklessly  determined  to  take  part.  They  had,  in 
fact,  been  entirely  reconciled,  avoiding  by  mutual 
consent  the  delicate  ground  of  their  dispute. 
Carlyon  was  a  man  of  considerable  reputation 
on  the  Frontier,  and  Derrick  Rose  was  secretly 
proud  of  the  friendship  that  existed  between 
them. 

Now,  however,  the  friendship  had  split  to  its 
very  foundation.  Carlyon  had  failed  him  when 
life  itself  had  been  in  the  balance. 

Impetuous  as  he  was,  Derrick  was  not  one  to 
forgive  quickly  so  gross  an  injury  as  this.  He  did 
not  think,  moreover,  that  Averil  herself  would 
continue  to  offer  homage  before  so  obvious  a  piece 
of  clay  as  her  idol  had  proved  himself  to  be.  Der 
rick  was  beginning  to  apply  to  Carlyon  the  most 
odious  of  all  epithets — that  of  coward. 

He  had  set  his  heart  upon  a  reconciliation  with 
Averil,  and  earnestly  he  hoped  she  would  see  the 
matter  with  his  eyes. 


270  Rosa  Mundi 

III 

DERRICK'S  PARADISE 

"So  it  was  the  Secret  Service  man  who  saved 
your  life,"  said  Averil,  with  flushed  cheeks. 
"Really,  Dick,  how  splendid  of  him!" 

"Finest  chap  I  ever  saw!"  declared  Derrick. 
"He  looked  about  eight  feet  high  in  native  dress. 
I  shall  have  to  find  that  man  some  day,  and  tell 
him  what  I  think  of  him." 

"Yes,  indeed!"  agreed  Averil.  "I  expect,  you 
know,  it  was  really  Colonel  Carlyon  who  sent 
him." 

"Being  too  great  a — strategist  to  advance  him 
self,"  said  Derrick. 

"But  he  didn't  know  you  were  at  the  head  of 
the  Goorkhas,"  Averil  reminded  him. 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Derrick.  "But  he  knew  I 
was  there.  And,  putting  me  out  of  the  question 
altogether,  what  can  you  think  of  an  officer  who 
will  coolly  leave  a  party  of  his  men  to  be  slaugh 
tered  like  sheep  in  a  butcher's  yard  because  the 
poor  beggars  happen  to  have  got  into  a  tight 
place?" 

Derrick  spoke  with  strong  indignation,  and 
Averil  was  silent  awhile.  Presently,  however, 
she  spoke  again,  slowly. 

"I  can't  help  thinking,  Dick,"  she  said,  "that 
there  is  an  explanation  somewhere.  We  ought 
not — it  would  not  be  fair — to  say  Colonel  Carlyon 


The  Secret  Service  Man       271 

acted  unworthily  before  he  has  had  a  chance  of 
justifying  himself. ' ' 

There  was  justice  in  this  remark.  Derrick,  who 
was  lying  at  the  girl's  feet  on  the  hearthrug  in  the 
Rectory  drawing-room,  reached  up  a  bony  hand 
and  took  possession  of  one  of  hers.  For  Averil 
had  received  him  with  a  warmer  welcome  than  he 
had  deemed  possible  in  his  most  sanguine  moments, 
and  he  was  very  happy  in  consequence. 

"All  right,"  he  said  equably.  "We'll  shunt 
Carlyon  for  a  bit,  and  talk  about  ourselves. 
Shall  we?" 

Averil  drew  the  bony  hand  on  to  her  lap  and 
looked  at  it  critically. 

' '  Poor  old  boy !"  she  said.     "  It  is  thin . ' ' 

Derrick  drew  himself  up  to  a  sitting  position. 
There  was  an  air  of  mastery  about  him  as  he 
raised  a  determined  face  to  hers. 

"Averil,"  he  said  suddenly,  "you  aren't  go 
ing  to  send  me  to  the  right-about  again,  are 
you?" 

"Oh,  don't  let  us  squabble  on  your  first  night!" 
said  Averil  hastily. 

' '  Squabble ! ' '  the  boy  exclaimed,  springing  to  his 
feet  vigorously.  "Do  you  call — that — squab 
bling?" 

Averil  stood  up,  too,  tall  and  straight,  and 
slightly  defiant. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go  away,  Dick,"  she  said, 
"if  you  can  stay  and  behave  nicely.  I  thought 
it  was  horribly  selfish  of  you  to  go  off  as  you  did 


272  Rosa  Mundi 

last  winter.  I  think  so  still.  If  you  had  got 
killed,  I  should  have  been  very — very — 

"What?"  demanded  Derrick  impatiently. 
' '  Sorry  ?  Angry — what  ? ' ' 

"Angry,"  said  Averil,  with  great  decision.  "I 
should  never  have  forgiven  you.  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  shall,  as  it  is." 

Derrick  uttered  a  sudden  passionate  laugh. 
Then  abruptly  his  mood  changed.  He  held  out 
his  hands  to  her. 

"Averil!"  he  said.  "Averil!  Can't  you  see 
how  I  want  you — how  I  love  you?  Why  do  you 
treat  me  like  this?  I've  thought  about  you, 
dreamt  about  you,  day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  ever  since  I  went  away.  You  thought  it 
beastly  selfish  of  me  to  go.  But  it  hasn't  been 
such  fun,  after  all.  All  the  weeks  I  was  in  hospital 
I  felt  sick  for  the  sight  of  you.  It  was  worse  than 
starvation.  Can't  you  see  what  it  is  to  me? 
Can't  you  see  that  I — I  worship  you?" 

"My  dear  Dick!"  Averil  put  her  hands  into 
his,  but  her  gesture  was  one  of  restraint.  "You 
mustn't  talk  so  wildly,"  she  said.  "And,  dear 
boy,  do  try  not  to  be  quite  so  impulsive — so  head 
strong.  You  know,  you — you — 

She  broke  off.  Derrick,  with  a  set  jaw  and 
burning  eyes,  was  drawing  her  to  him,  strongly, 
irresistibly. 

"Derrick!"  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  anger. 

"I  can't  help  it!"  Derrick  said  passionately. 
"I've  been  counting  on  this,  living  for  this.  Averil 


The  Secret  Service  Man       273 

I — I — you  can  call  me  mad  if  you  like,  but  if  you 
send  me  away  again — I  believe  I  shall  shoot  my 
self." 

"What  nonsense!"  exclaimed  Averil,  half -angry, 
half-scornful. 

He  dropped  her  hands  and  stood  quite  still  for 
the  space  of  a  few  seconds,  his  face  white  and 
twitching.  And  then,  to  her  utter  amazement,  he 
sank  heavily  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands. 

"Dick!"  she  ejaculated. 

Silence  followed  the  word,  a  breathless  silence. 
Derrick  sat  perfectly  motionless,  his  fingers 
gripping  his  hair.  At  last  Averil  moved  up  to 
him,  a  little  frightened  by  his  stillness,  and  very 
intensely  compassionate.  She  bent  and  touched 
his  shoulder. 

"Dick!"  she  said.     "Dick!     Don't!" 

He  stirred  under  her  hand,  but  did  not  raise  his 
head.  "Get  away,  Averil!"  he  muttered.  "You 
don't  understand." 

And  quite  suddenly  Averil  was  transported 
back  to  the  far,  receding  schooldays,  when  Derrick 
had  got  into  trouble  for  smoking  his  first  cigar. 
The  memory  unconsciously  influenced  her  speech. 

"But,  Dick,"  she  said  persuasively,  "don't  you 
think  you  are  the  least  bit  in  the  world  unreason 
able?  It's  true  I  don't  quite  understand.  We've 
been  such  splendid  chums  all  our  lives,  I  really 
don't  see  why  we  should  begin  to  be  anything 
different  now.  Besides,  Dick" — there  was  appeal 

18 


274  Rosa  Mundi 

in  her  voice — "I  don't  truly  want  to  get  married. 
It  seems  such  a  silly  thing  to  go  and  do  when  one 
had  such  really  jolly  times  without.  It  does  spoil 
things  so." 

Derrick  sat  up.  He  was  still  absurdly  boyish, 
despite  his  four-and-twenty  years. 

"Look  here,  Averil!"  he  said  doggedly.  "If 
you  won't  have  me,  I'm  not  going  to  hang  about 
after  you  like  a  tame  monkey.  It's  going  to  be 
one  thing  or  the  other.  I've  made  a  big  enough 
fool  of  myself  over  you.  We  can't  be  chums,  as 
you  call  it" — a  passionate  ring  crept  into  his 
voice — "when  all  the  while  you're  holding  me  off 
at  arm's  length  as  if  I'd  got  the  plague.  So"- 
rising  abruptly  and  facing  her — "which  is  it  to 
be?" 

Averil  looked  at  him.  His  face  was  still  white, 
but  his  lips  were  sternly  compressed.  He  was 
weak  no  longer.  She  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
thrill  of  admiration  banishing  her  pity.  After 
all,  was  he  indeed  only  a  boy  ?  He  scarcely  seemed 
so  at  that  moment.  He  was,  moreover,  straight 
and  handsome  despite  his  gaunt  appearance. 

"Answer  me,  Averil!"  he  said  with  deter 
mination. 

But  Averil  had  no  answer  ready.  She  stood 
silent. 

Derrick  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  It  was  a  light 
touch,  but  somehow  it  conveyed  to  her  the  fact 
that  he  was  holding  himself  in  with  a  tighter  rein 
than  ever  before. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       275 

"Don't  torture  me!"  he  said,  speaking  quickly, 
nervously.  ' '  Tell  me  either  to  stay  or — go ! ' '  His 
voice  dropped  on  the  last  word,  and  for  a  second 
Averil  saw  the  torture  on  his  face. 

It  was  too  much  for  her  resolution.  All  her  life 
she  had  been  this  boy's  chosen  companion  and 
confidante.  She  felt  she  could  not  turn  from 
him  now  in  his  distress,  and  deliberately  break 
his  heart.  Yet  for  one  tumultuous  second  she 
battled  with  her  impulse.  Then — she  yielded. 
Somehow  that  look  in  Derrick's  eyes  compelled 
her. 

She  put  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Dick— stay!"  she  said. 

His  arms  closed  round  her  in  a  second.  "You 
mean—  "  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,  Dick,"  she  answered  bravely,  "I  do  mean. 
Dear  boy,  don't  ever  look  like  that  again!  You 
have  hurt  me  horribly." 

Derrick  turned  her  face  up  to  his  own  and 
kissed  her  repeatedly  and  passionately. 

"You  shall  never  regret  it,  my  darling,"  he  said. 
"You  have  turned  my  world  into  a  paradise.  I 
will  do  the  same  for  yours." 

"It  doesn't  take  much  to  make  me  happy," 
Averil  said,  leaning  her  forehead  against  his 
shoulder.  "I  hope  you  will  be  a  kind  master, 
Dick,  and  let  me  have  my  own  way  sometimes." 

"Master?"  scoffed  Derrick,  kissing  her  hair. 
"You  know  you  can  lead  me  by  the  nose  from 
world's  end  to  world's  end." 


276  Rosa  Mundi 

' ' 1  wonder,"  said  Averil,  with  a  little  sigh.  ' ' Do 
you  know,  Dick,  I'm  not  quite  sure  of  that." 

"What!"  said  Derrick  softly.  "Not— quite- 
sure!" 

"Not  when  you  look  as  you  did  thirty  seconds 
ago,"  Averil  explained.  "Never  mind,  dear  old 
boy!  I'm  glad  you  can  look  like  that,  though, 
mind,  you  must  never,  never  do  it  again  if  you  live 
to  be  a  hundred." 

She  looked  up  at  him  suddenly  and  clasped  her 
hands  behind  his  neck.  "You  do  love  me,  don't 
you,  Dick?"  she  said. 

"My  darling,  I  worship  you ! "  Derrick  answered 
very  solemnly. 

And  Averil  drew  his  head  down  with  a  quiver 
ing  smile  and  kissed  him  on  the  lips. 

IV 

CARLYON  DEFENDS  HIMSELF 

"An,  Derrick!  I  thought  I  could  not  be  mis 
taken." 

Derrick  turned  swiftly  at  the  touch  of  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  and  nearly  tumbled  into  the  roadway. 
He  had  been  sauntering  somewhat  aimlessly  down 
the  Strand  till  pulled  up  in  this  rather  summary 
fashion.  He  now  found  himself  staring  at  a  tall 
man  who  had  come  up  behind  him — a  man  with  a 
lined  face  and  drooping  eyelids,  and  a  settled 
weariness  about  his  whole  demeanour  which, 


The  Secret  Service  Man       277 

somehow,  conveyed  the  impression  that,  in  his 
opinion,  at  least,  there  was  nothing  on  earth  worth 
striving  for. 

Derrick  recovered  his  balance  and  stood  still 
before  him.  Speech,  however,  quite  unexpectedly 
failed  him.  The  quiet  greeting  had  scattered 
his  ideas  momentarily. 

The  hand  that  had  touched  his  shoulder  was 
deliberately  transferred  to  his  elbow. 

"Come!"  said  his  acquaintance,  smiling  a 
little.  "We  are  blocking  the  gangway.  I  am  stay 
ing  at  the  Grand.  If  you  are  at  liberty  you  might 
dine  with  me.  By  the  way,  how  are  you,  old 
fellow?" 

He  spoke  very  quietly  and  wholly  without 
affectation.  There  was  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  his 
last  sentence  that  quite  restored  Derrick's  faculties. 

He  shook  his  arm  free  from  the  other's  hand 
with  a  vehemence  of  action  that  was  unmistakably 
hostile. 

"No,  thanks,  Colonel  Carlyon!"  he  said,  speak 
ing  fast  and  feverishly.  "If  I  were  starving,  I 
wouldn't  accept  hospitality  from  you!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  said  Carlyon. 

His  tone  was  still  quiet,  but  it  was  also  stern. 
He  pushed  a  determined  hand  through  Derrick's 
arm.  "If  you  won't  come  my  way,"  he  said,  "I 
shall  come  yours." 

Derrick  swore  under  his  breath.  But  he  yielded. 
"Very  well,"  he  said  aloud.  "I'll  come.  But  I 
swear  I  won't  touch  anything." 


278  Rosa  Mundi 

"You  needn't  swear,"  said  Carlyon;  "it's 
unnecessary." 

And  Derrick  bit  his  lip  nearly  through,  being 
exasperated.  He  did  not,  however,  resist  the 
compelling  hand  a  second  time,  realizing  the  futil 
ity  of  such  a  proceeding. 

So  in  dead  silence  they  reached  the  Grand  and 
entered.  Then  Carlyon  spoke  again. 

"Come  up  to  my  room  first ! "  he  said. 

Derrick  went  with  him  unprotesting. 

In  his  own  room  Carlyon  turned  round  and 
took  him  by  the  shoulders.  "Now,"  he  said,  "are 
you  ill  or  merely  sulky?  Just  tell  me  which,  and 
I  shall  know  how  to  treat  you! " 

"It's  no  thanks  to  you  I'm  not  dead ! "  exclaimed 
Derrick  stormily.  "I  didn't  want  to  meet  you, 
but,  by  Heaven,  since  I  have,  and  since  you  have 
forced  an  interview  upon  me,  I'll  go  ahead  and  tell 
you  what  I  think  of  you." 

Carlyon  turned  away  from  him  and  sat  down. 
"Do,  by  all  means,"  he  said,  "if  it  will  get  you 
into  a  healthier  frame  of  mind ! " 

But  Derrick's  flow  of  eloquence  unexpectedly 
failed  him  at  this  juncture,  and  he  stood  awkwardly 
silent. 

Carlyon  turned  round  at  last  and  looked  at  him. 
"Sit  down,  Dick,"  he  said  patiently,  "and  stop 
being  an  ass!  I'm  a  difficult  man  to  quarrel  with, 
as  you  know.  So  sit  down  and  state  your  griev 
ance,  and  have  done  with  it!" 

"You  know  very  well  what's  wrong!"  Derrick 


The  Secret  Service  Man       279 

burst  out  fiercely,  beginning  to  prowl  to  and 
fro. 

"Do  I?"  said  Carlyon.  He  got  up  deliberately 
and  intercepted  Derrick.  "Just  stop  tramping," 
he  said,  with  sudden  sternness,  "and  listen  to  me! 
You  have  your  wound  alone  to  thank  for  keeping 
you  out  of  the  worst  mess  you  ever  got  into.  If 
you  hadn't  gone  back  in  a  hospital  truck,  you 
would  have  gone  back  under  escort.  Do  you 
understand  that?  " 

"Why?"  flashed  Derrick. 

"Why?"  echoed  Carlyon,  striking  him  abruptly 
on  the  shoulder.  "Tell  me  your  own  opinion  of  a 
hot-headed,  meddling  young  fool  who  not  only  got 
into  mischief  himself  at  a  most  critical  moment, 
but  led  half-a-score  of  valuable  men  into  what  was 
practically  a  death-trap,  for  the  sake  of,  I  suppose 
he  would  call  it,  an  hour's  sport.  On  my  soul, 
Derrick,"  he  ended,  with  a  species  of  quiet  vigour 
that  carried  considerable  weight  behind  it,  "if 
you  weren't  such  a  skeleton  I'd  give  you  a  sound 
thrashing  for  your  sins.  As  it  is,  you  will  be  wise 
to  get  off  that  high  horse  of  yours  and  take  a  back 
seat.  I  never  have  put  up  with  this  sort  of  thing 
from  you.  And  I  never  mean  to." 

Derrick  had  no  answer  ready.  He  stood  still, 
considering  these  things. 

Colonel  Carlyon  turned  his  back  on  him  and 
cut  the  end  of  a  cigar.  "Do  you  grasp  my 
meaning?"  he  enquired  at  length,  as  Derrick 
remained  silent. 


280  Rosa  Mundi 

Derrick  moved  to  a  chair  and  sat  down.  Some 
how  Carlyon  had  taken  the  backbone  out  of  his 
indignation.  He  spoke  at  last,  but  without 
anger.  "Even  if  it  were  as  you  say,"  he  said,  "I 
don't  consider  you  treated  me  decently." 

Carlyon  suddenly  laughed.  "Even  if  by  some 
odd  chance  I  have  actually  spoken  the  truth,"  he 
said,  "I  shall  not,  and  do  not,  feel  called  upon  to 
justify  my  action  for  your  benefit." 

' '  I  think  you  owe  me  that, ' '  Derrick  said  quickly. 

"I  disagree  with  you,"  Carlyon  rejoined.  "I 
owe  you  nothing  whatever  except  the  aforemen 
tioned  thrashing  which  must,  unfortunately,  under 
the  circumstances,  remain  a  debt  for  the  present." 

Derrick  leant  forward  suddenly 

"Stop  rotting,  Carlyon !"  he  said,  with  impulsive 
earnestness.  "I  can't  help  talking  seriously. 
You  didn't  know,  surely,  what  a  tight  fix  we  were 
in?  You  couldn't  have  intended  us  to — to — die 
in  the  dark  like  that?" 

"Intended!"  said  Carlyon  sharply.  "I  never 
intended  you  to  occupy  that  position  at  all, 
remember." 

"Yes;  but — since  we  were  in  that  position,  since 
—if  you  choose  to  put  it  so — I  exceeded  all  bounds 
and  intentions  and  took  those  splendid  little 
Goorkhas  into  a  death-trap;  I  may  have  been  a 
headstrong,  idiotic  fool  to  do  it;  but,  granted  all 
that,  you  did  not  deliberately  and  knowingly  leave 
us  to  be  massacred?  You  couldn't  have  done 
actually  that." 


The  Secret  Service  Man       281 

Carlyon  laid  his  cigar-case  on  the  table  at  Der 
rick's  elbow,  and  lighted  his  own  cigar  with  great 
deliberation. 

"You  may  remember,  Dick,"  he  said  quietly, 
after  a  pause,  "that  once  upon  a  time  you  wrote — 
and  published — a  book.  It  had  its  merits  and  it 
had  its  faults.  But  a  fool  of  a  critic  took  it  into  his 
head  to  give  you  a  thorough  slating.  You  were 
furious,  weren't  you?  I  remember  giving  you  a 
bit  of  sound  advice  over  that  book.  Probably 
you  have  forgotten  it.  But  it  chances  to  be  one 
of  the  guiding  principles  of  my  life.  It  is  this: 
Never  answer  your  critics!  Go  straight  ahead!" 

He  paused. 

' '  I  remember, ' '  said  Derrick.     ' '  Well  ? ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Carlyon  gravely,  "that  is  what  I 
have  done  all  my  life,  what  I  mean  to  do  now. 
You  are  in  full  possession  of  the  facts  of  the  case. 
You  have  defined  my  position  fairly  accurately. 
I  did  know  you  were  in  an  impossible  corner.  I 
did  know  that  you  and  the  men  with  you  were  in 
all  probability  doomed.  And — I  did  not  think 
good  to  send  a  rescue.  You  do  not  understand  the 
game  of  war.  You  merely  went  in  for  it  for  the 
sake  of  sport,  I  for  the  sake  of  the  stakes.  There 
is  a  difference.  More  than  that  I  do  not  mean 
to  say." 

He  sat  down  opposite  Derrick  as  he  ended  and 
began  to  smoke  with  an  air  of  indifference.  But 
his  eyes  were  on  the  boy's  face.  They  had  been 
close  friends  for  years. 


282  Rosa  Mundi 

Derrick  still  sat  forward.  He  was  staring  at  the 
ground  heavily,  silently  Carlyon  had  given  him 
a  shock.  Somehow  he  had  not  expected  from  him 
this  cool  acknowledgment  of  an  action  from 
which  he  himself  shrank  with  unspeakable  abhor 
rence. 

To  leave  a  friend  in  the  lurch  was,  in  Derrick's 
eyes,  an  act  so  infamous  that  he  would  have  cut 
his  own  throat  sooner  than  be  guilty  of  it.  It  did 
not  occur  to  him  that  Carlyon  might  have  urged 
extenuating  circumstances,  but  had  rather  scorn 
fully  abstained  from  doing  so. 

He  did  not  even  consider  the  fact  that,  as  com 
manding-officer,  Carlyon 's  responsibility  for  the 
lives  in  his  charge  was  a  burden  not  to  be  ignored 
or  lightly  borne.  He  did  not  consider  the  risk  to 
these  same  valuable  lives  that  a  rescue  in  force 
would  have  involved. 

He  saw  only  himself  fighting  for  a  forlorn  hope, 
his  grinning  little  Goorkhas  gallantly  and  in 
trepidly  following  wherever  he  would  lead,  and 
he  saw  the  awful  darkness  down  which  his  feet 
had  stumbled,  a  terrible  chasm  that  had  yawned 
to  engulf  them  all. 

He  sat  up  at  last  and  looked  straight  at  Carlyon. 
He  spoke  slowly,  with  an  effort. 

"If  it  had  been  only  myself,"  he  said,  "I — per 
haps,  I  might  have  found  it  easier.  But  there 
were  the  men,  my  men.  You  could  not  alter  your 
plans  by  one  hair's-breadth  to  save  their  gallant 
lives.  I  can't  get  over  that.  I  never  shall.  You 


The  Secret  Service  Man       283 

left  us  to  die  like  rats  in  a  hole.  But  for  a  total 
stranger — a  spy,  a  Secret  Service  man — we  should 
have  been  cut  to  pieces,  every  one  of  us.  You  did 
not,  I  suppose,  send  that  man  to  help  us  out?" 

Carlyon  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  upwards.  He 
frowned  a  little,  but  his  look  was  more  one  of 
boredom  than  annoyance. 

"What  exactly  are  you  talking  about?"  he  said. 
"I  don't  employ  spies.  As  to  Secret  Service 
agents,  I  think  you  have  heard  my  opinion  of  them 
before." 

"Yes,"  said  Derrick.  He  rose  with  an  air  of 
finality.  His  young  face  was  very  stern.  ' '  He  was 
probably  attached  to  General  Harford's  division. 
He  found  us  in  a  fix,  and  he  helped  us  out  of  it. 
He  knew  the  land.  We  didn't.  He  was  the  most 
splendid  fighting-man  I  ever  saw.  He  tried  to 
stick  up  for  you,  too — said  you  didn't  know. 
That,  of  course,  was  a  mistake.  You  did  know, 
and  are  not  ashamed  to  own  it." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Carlyon. 

"The  men  couldn't  have  held  out  without 
him,"  Derrick  continued.  "After  I  was  hit,  he 
stood  by  them.  He  only  took  himself  off  just  be 
fore  morning  came  and  you  ventured  to  move  to 
our  assistance." 

"He  had  no  possible  right  to  do  it,"  observed 
Carlyon  thoughtfully  ignoring  the  bitter  ring  of 
sarcasm  in  the  boy's  tone. 

"Oh,  none  whatever,"  said  Derrick.  He  spoke 
hastily,  jerkily,  as  a  man  not  sure  of  himself.  "No 


284  Rosa  Mundi 

doubt  his  life  was  Government  property,  and  he 
had  no  right  to  risk  it.  Still  he  did  it,  and  I  am 
weak-minded  enough  to  be  grateful.  My  own  life 
may  be  worthless;  at  least,  it  was  then.  And  I 
would  not  have  survived  my  Goorkhas.  But  he 
saved  them,  too.  That,  odd  as  it  may  seem  to 
you,  made  all  the  difference  to  me." 

' '  Is  your  life  more  valuable  now  than  it  was  a  few 
months  ago?"  enquired  Carlyon,  in  a  casual  tone. 

"Yes,"  said  Derrick  shorty. 

"Has  Averil  accepted  you?"  Carlyon  asked 
him  point-blank. 

"Yes,"  said  Derrick  again. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  Then : ' '  Permit 
me  to  offer  my  felicitations!"  said  Carlyon, 
through  a  haze  of  tobacco-smoke. 

Derrick  started  as  if  stung.  "I  beg  you  won't 
do  anything  of  the  sort!"  he  said  with  vehemence. 
"I  don't  want  your  good  wishes.  I  would  rather 
be  without  them.  I  may  be  a  hare-brained  fool. 
I  won't  deny  it.  But  as  for  you — you  are  a  black 
guard — the  worst  sort  of  blackguard !  I  hope  I 
shall  never  speak  to  you  again !" 

Carlyon,  lying  back  in  his  chair,  neither  stirred 
nor  spoke.  He  looked  up  at  Derrick  from  beneath 
steady  eyelids.  But  he  offered  him  nothing  in 
return  for  his  insulting  words. 

Derrick  waited  for  seconds.  Then  patience 
and  resolution  alike  failed  him.  He  swung  round 
abruptly  on  his  heel  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

As  for  Colonel  Carlyon,  he  did  not  rise  from  his 


The  Secret  Service  Man       285 

chair  till  he  had  conscientiously  finished  his  cigar. 
He  had  stuck  to  his  principles.  He  had  not  an 
swered  his  critic.  Incidentally  he  had  borne  more 
from  that  critic  than  any  man  had  ever  before 
dared  to  offer  him,  more  than  he  had  told  Derrick 
himself  that  he  would  bear.  Yet  Derrick  had  gone 
away  from  the  encounter  with  a  whole  skin  in  order 
that  Colonel  Carlycn  might  stick  to  his  principles. 
Carlyon's  forbearance  was  a  plant  of  peculiar 
growth. 

V 

A  WOMAN'S  FORGIVENESS 

"COLONEL  CARLYON,"  said  Averil,  turning  to 
face  him  fully,  her  eyes  very  bright,  "will  you  take 
the  trouble  to  make  me  understand  about  Der 
rick?  I  have  been  awaiting  an  opportunity  to 
ask  you  ever  since  I  heard  about  it." 

Carlyon  paused.  They  chanced  to  be  stay 
ing  simultaneously  in  the  house  of  a  mutual 
friend.  He  had  arrived  only  the  previous  evening, 
and  till  that  moment  had  scarcely  spoken  to  the 
girl. 

Carlyon  smothered  an  involuntary  sigh.  He 
could  have  wished  that  this  girl,  with  her  straight 
eyes  and  honest  speech,  would  have  spared  him  the 
explanation  which  she  had  made  such  speed  to 
demand  of  him. 

"Make  you  understand,   Miss  Eversley!"   he 


286  Rosa  Mundi 

said,  halting  deliberately  before  a  bookcase. 
"What  exactly  is  it  that  you  do  not  understand?" 

"Everything,"  Averil  said,  with  a  compre 
hensive  gesture.  "I  have  always  believed  that 
you  thought  more  of  Derrick  than  anything  else 
in  the  world." 

"Ah!"  said  Carlyon  quietly.  "That  is  prob 
ably  the  root  of  the  misunderstanding.  Correct 
that,  and  the  rest  will  be  comparatively  easy." 

He  took  a  book  from  the  shelf  before  him  and 
ran  a  quick  eye  through  its  pages.  After  a  brief 
pause  he  put  the  volume  back  and  joined  the  girl 
on  the  hearthrug. 

"Is  my  behaviour  still  an  enigma?"  he  said, 
with  a  slight  smile. 

She  turned  to  him  impulsively.  "Of  course," 
she  said,  colouring  vividly,  ' '  I  am  aware  that  to  a 
celebrated  man  like  you  the  opinion  of  a  nobody 
like  myself  cannot  matter  one  straw.  But— 

"Pardon  me!"  Carlyon  gravely.  "Even  cele 
brated  men  are  human,  you  know.  They  have 
their  feelings  like  the  rest  of  mankind.  I  shall  be 
sorry  to  forfeit  your  good  opinion.  But  I  have  no 
means  of  retaining  it.  Derrick  cannot  see  my 
point  of  view.  You,  of  course,  will  share  his 
difficulties." 

"That  does  not  follow,  does  it?"  said  Averil. 

"I  should  say  so,"  said  Carlyon.  "You  see, 
Miss  Eversley,  you  have  already  told  me  that  you 
do  not  understand  my  action.  Non-comprehen 
sion  in  such  a  matter  is  synonymous  with  dis- 


The  Secret  Service  Man       287 

approval.  You  are,  no  doubt,  in  full  possession  of 
the  facts.  More  than  the  bare  facts  I  cannot  give 
you.  I  will  not  attempt  to  justify  myself  where  I 
admit  no  guilt." 

"No,"  Averil  said.  "Pray  don't  think  I  am 
asking  you  to  do  anything  of  the  sort!  Only, 
Colonel  Carlyon,"  she  laid  a  pleading  hand  on  his 
arm  and  lifted  a  very  anxious  face,  "you  remember 
we  used  to  be  friends,  if  you  will  allow  the  pre 
sumption  of  such  a  term.  Won't  you  even  try  to 
show  me  your  point  of  view  in  this  matter?  I 
think  I  could  understand.  I  want  to  under 
stand." 

Carlyon  leant  his  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece 
and  looked  very  gravely  into  the  girl's  troubled 
eyes. 

"You  are  very  generous,  Averil,"  he  said. 

"Generous,"  she  echoed,  with  a  touch  of  impa 
tience.  ' '  No ;  I  only  want  to  be  just — for  my  own 
sake.  I  hate  to  take  a  narrow,  cramped  view  of 
things.  I  hate  that  Dick  should.  A  few  words 
from  you  would  set  us  both  right,  and  we  could 
all  be  friends  again." 

"Ah!"  said  Carlyon.  "But  suppose — I  have 
nothing  to  say?" 

"You  must  have  something!"  she  declared 
vehemently.  "You  never  do  anything  without 
a  reason." 

"Generous  again!"  said  Carlyon. 

"Oh,  don't  laugh  at  me!"  cried  Averil,  stung  by 
the  quiet  unconcern  of  his  words. 


288  Rosa  Mundi 

He  straightened  himself  instantly,  his  face  sud 
denly  stern.  "At  least  you  wrong  me  there!"  he 
said,  and  before  the  curt  reproof  of  his  tone  she  felt 
humbled  and  ashamed.  ' '  Listen  to  me  a  moment ! 
You  want  my  point  of  view  clearly  stated.  You 
shall  have  it. 

"I  am  employed  by  a  blundering  Government  to 
do  a  certain  task  which  bigger  men  shirk.  Carlyon 
of  the  Frontier,  they  say,  will  stick  at  no  dirty  job. 
I  undertake  the  task.  I  lay  my  plans — subtle 
plans  which  you,  with  your  blind  British  generos 
ity,  would  neither  understand  nor  approve.  I 
proceed  to  carry  them  out.  I  am  within  sight  of 
the  end  and  success,  when  an  idiotic  fool  of  a 
boy,  who  is  not  so  much  as  a  combatant  himself, 
blunders  into  the  business  and  throws  the  whole 
scheme  out  of  gear.  He  assumes  the  leadership 
of  a  dozen  stranded  Goorkhas,  and  instead  of 
bringing  them  back  he  drags  them  forward  in 
to  an  impossible  position,  and  then  expects  a 
rescue. 

"I  meanwhile  have  my  own  work  to  do.  I  am 
responsible  to  the  Government  for  the  lives  of  my 
men.  I  cannot  expend  them  on  other  than 
Government  work. 

"On  one  side  of  the  scale  is  this  same  Govern 
ment  and  the  plans  made  in  its  interest;  on  the 
other  the  life  of  a  boy,  strategically  speaking, 
worth  nothing,  and  the  lives  of  half-a-score  of 
fighting  men,  already  accounted  a  loss.  It  may 
astonish  you  to  know  that  the  Government  turned 


The  Secret  Service  Man       289 

the  scale.  Those  who  had  incurred  the  penalty 
of  rashness  were  left  to  pay  it.  That,  Miss  Ever- 
sley,  is  all  I  have  to  say.  You  will  be  good  enough 
to  remember  that  I  have  said  it  at  your  request 
and  not  in  my  own  defence." 

He  ceased  to  speak  as  abruptly  as  he  had  begun. 
He  was  standing  at  his  full  height,  and,  tall  though 
she  was,  Averil  felt  unaccountably  small  and 
insignificant  before  him.  Curtly,  almost  rudely, 
as  he  had  spoken,  she  admired  him  immensely  for 
the  stern  code  of  honour  he  professed. 

She  did  not  utter  a  word  for  several  seconds. 
He  had  impressed  her  very  strongly.  She  stayed 
to  weigh  his  words  in  the  balance  of  her  own 
judgment. 

"It  is  a  man's  point  of  view,"  she  said  slowly  at 
last,  "not  a  woman's." 

"Even  so,"  said  Carlyon,  dropping  back  sud 
denly  to  his  former  attitude. 

She  looked  at  him  very  earnestly,  her  brows 
drawn  together. 

"You  have  not  told  me  about  the  Secret  Ser 
vice  man,"  she  said  at  length.  "You  sent  him, 
did  you  not,  on  the  forlorn  chance  of  saving 
Dick?" 

Carlyon  shook  his  head  in  a  grim  disclaimer. 

' '  Derrick's  information  was  the  first  I  heard  of 
the  individual,"  he  said.  "I  was  unaware  of  the 
existence  of  a  Secret  Service  agent  within  a  radius 
of  fifty  miles.  I  believe  General  Harford  encour 
ages  the  breed.  I  do  the  precise  opposite.  I  have 


290  Rosa  Mundi 

no  faith  in  professional  spies  in  that  part  of  the 
world.  Russian  territory  is  too  near,  and  Russian 
gold  too  tempting." 

Averil's  face  fell.  "Colonel  Carlyon,"  she  said, 
in  a  very  small  voice,  "forgive  me,  but — but — you 
cannot  be  so  hard  as  you  sound.  You  are  fond 
of  Dick,  surely?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  deliberately.  "I  am  fond  of 
you  both,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so." 

Averil  coloured  a  little.  "Thank  you,"  she 
said.  "I  shall  try  presently  to  make  him  under 
stand." 

"Understand  what?"  said  Carlyon  curiously. 
"Your  feeling  in  the  matter." 
"My  what?"  he  said  roughly.     Then  hastily, 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Eversley.     But  are  you 
sure  you  understand  it  yourself?" 

' '  I  am  doing  my  best, ' '  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
1  But  you  are  sorely  disappointed,  nevertheless," 
he  said,  in  a  more  kindly  tone.  "You  expected 
something  different.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  I 
should  leave  Dick's  convictions  alone,  if  I  were 
you.  At  least  he  has  no  illusions  left  with  regard 
to  Carlyon  of  the  Frontier." 

There  was  an  involuntary  touch  of  sadness  in 
the  nmn's  quiet  speech.  He  no  longer  looked  at 
Averil,  and  his  face  in  repose  wore  an  expression 
of  unutterable  weariness. 

Averil  held  out  her  hand  with  an  abrupt,  child 
like  impulse. 

"Colonel   Carlyon,"   she   said,    speaking   very 


The  Secret  Service  Man       291 

rapidly,  "you  are  right.  I  don't  understand.  I 
think  you  hold  too  stern  a  view  of  your  responsi 
bilities.  I  believe  no  woman  could  think  otherwise. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  do  still  believe  you  are  a 
good  man.  I  shall  always  believe  it." 

Carlyon  glanced  at  her  quickly.  Hei  face  was 
flushed,  her  eyes  very  eager.  He  looked  away 
again  almost  instantly,  but  he  took  her  out 
stretched  hand. 

"Thank  you,  Averil,"  he  said  gravely.  "I 
believe  under  the  circumstances  few  women  would 
have  said  the  same.  Tell  me!  Did  I  hear  a 
rumour  that  you  are  going  out  to  India  yourself 
very  shortly?" 

She  nodded.  "I  have  almost  promised  to  go," 
she  said.  "I  have  a  married  sister  at  Sharapura. 
I  wrote  to  her  of  my  engagement,  and  she  wrote 
back,  begging  me  to  go  to  her  if  I  could.  She  and 
her  husband  have  been  disappointed  several  times 
about  coming  home,  and  it  is  still  uncertain  when 
they  will  manage  it.  She  wants  to  see  me  before 
I  marry  and  settle  down,  she  says." 

"And  you  want  to  go?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Averil,  with  enthusiasm. 
"It  has  always  been  a  standing  promise  that  I 
should  go  some  day." 

"And  what  does  Derrick  say  to  it?" 

"Oh,  Dick!  He  was  very  cross  at  first.  But  I 
have  propitiated  him  by  promising  to  marry  him  as 
soon  as  I  get  back,  which  will  be  probably  this  time 
next  year." 


292  Rosa  Mundi 

Averil's  face  grew  suddenly  grave. 

"I  hope  you  will  both  be  very  happy,"  said 
Carlyon,  rather  formally. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Averil,  looking  up  at  him. 
"It  would  make  me  much  happier  if — you  and 
Dick  could  be  friends  before  then." 

"Would  it?"  said  Carlyon  thoughtfully.  "I 
wonder  why." 

"I  should  like  my  friends  to  be  Dick's  friends," 
she  said,  with  slight  hesitation. 

Carlyon  smiled  a  little.  "Forgive  me,  Miss 
Eversley,  for  being  monotonous!"  he  said.  .  .  . 
"But,  once  more — how  generous!" 

Averil  turned  sharply  away,  inexplicably  hurt 
by  what  she  considered  the  note  of  mockery  in  his 
voice,  and  went  out,  leaving  him  alone  before  the 
fire.  Emphatically  this  man  was  entirely  beyond 
her  understanding. 

But,  nevertheless,  when  they  met  again,  she  had 
forgiven  him. 

VI 

FIEND  OR  KING? 

" HULLO,  doctor!  What  news?"  sang  out  a 
curly-haired  subaltern  on  the  steps  of  the  club,  a 
newly-erected,  wooden  bungalow  of  which  the 
little  Frontier  station  was  immensely  proud. 
"You're  looking  infernally  serious.  What's  the 
matter?" 


The  Secret  Service  Man       293 

Dr.  Seddon  rolled  stoutly  off  his  steaming  pony 
and  went  to  join  his  questioner. 

"What  do  you  think  you're  doing,  Toby?"  he 
said,  with  a  glance  at  an  enormous  pair  of  scissors 
in  the  boy's  hand. 

"I'm  making  lamp-shades,"  Toby  responded, 
leading  the  way  within.  "What's  your  drink? 
Nothing?  What  a  horribly  dry  beast  you  are! 
Yes,  lamp-shades — for  the  ball,  you  know.  Got 
to  be  ready  by  to-morrow  night.  We're  doing 
them  with  crinkly  paper.  Miss  Eversley  pro 
mised  to  come  and  help  me.  But  she  hasn't 
turned  up." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Seddon.  "Not  come  back 
yet?" 

Toby  dropped  his  scissors  with  a  clatter,  and 
dived  for  them  under  the  reading-room  table. 

"Don't  make  me  jump,  I  say,  doctor!"  he  said 
pathetically.  "I'm  quite  upset  enough  as  it  is. 
That  lazy  lout,  Soames,  won't  stir  a  finger.  The 
other  chaps  are  on  duty.  And  Miss  Eversley  has 
proved  faithless.  Why  can't  you  turn  to  and 
help?" 

But  Seddon  was  already  striding  to  the  door 
again  in  hot  haste. 

"That  idiot  of  a  girl  must  have  crossed  the 
Frontier!"  he  said,  as  he  went.  "There  was  a 
fellow  shot  on  sentry-go  last  night.  It's  infer 
nally  dangerous,  I  tell  you!" 

Toby  raced  after  him  swearing  inarticulately. 
A  couple  of  subalterns  just  entering  were  nearly 


294  Rosa  Mundi 

overwhelmed  by  their  vigorous  exit.  They  recov 
ered  themselves  and  followed  to  the  tune  of  Toby's 
excited  questioning.  But  none  of  the  party  got 
beyond  the  veranda  steps,  for  there  the  sound  of 
clattering  hoofs  arrested  them,  and  a  jaded  horse 
bearing  a  dishevelled  rider  was  pulled  up  short  in 
front  of  the  club. 

"Miss  Eversley  herself!"  cried  Toby,  making  a 
dash  forward. 

A  native  servant  slipped  unobtrusively  to  the 
sweating  horse's  bridle.  Averil  was  on  the  ground 
in  a  moment  and  turned  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the 
club-house. 

"Is  my  brother-in-law  here?"  she  said  to  Toby, 
accepting  the  hand  he  offered. 

"Who?  Raymond?  No;  he's  in  the  North 
Camp  somewhere.  Do  you  want  him  ?  Anything 
wrong?  By  Jove,  Miss  Eversley,  you've  given  us 
an  awful  fright!" 

Averil  went  up  the  steps  with  so  palpable  an  effort 
that  Seddon  hastily  dragged  forward  a  chair.  Her 
lips,  as  she  answered  Toby,  were  quite  colourless. 

"I  have  had  a  fright  myself,"  she  said.  Then 
she  looked  round  at  the  other  men  with  a  shaky 
laugh.  "I  have  been  riding  for  my  life,"  she  said 
a  little  breathlessly.  "I  have  never  done  that 
before.  It — it's  very  exciting — almost  more  so 
than  riding  to  hounds.  I  have  often  wondered 
how  the  fox  felt.  Now  I  know." 

She  ignored  the  chair  Seddon  placed  for  her,  turn 
ing  to  the  boy  called  Toby  with  great  resolution. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       295 

"Those  lamp-shades,  Mr.  Carey,"  she  said. 
"I'm  sorry  I'm  so  late.  You  must  have  thought 
I  was  never  coming.  In  fact" — the  colour  was 
returning  to  her  face,  and  her  smile  became  more 
natural — "I  thought  so  myself  a  few  minutes  ago. 
Let  us  set  to  work  at  once ! " 

Toby  burst  into  a  rude  whoop  of  admiration  and 
flung  a  ball  of  string  into  the  air. 

"Miss  Eversley,  well  done!  Well  done!"  he 
gasped.  "You — you  deserve  a  V.C. !" 

"Indeed  I  don't,"  she  returned.  "I  have  been 
running  away  hard." 

"Tell  us  all  about  it,  Miss  Eversley!"  urged  one 
of  her  listeners.  "You  have  been  across  the 
Frontier,  now,  haven't  you?  What  happened? 
Someone  tried  to  snipe  you  from  afar? " 

But  Miss  Eversley  refused  to  be  communicative. 
"I  am  much  too  busy,"  she  said,  "to  discuss  any 
thing  so  unimportant.  Come,  Mr.  Carey,  the 
lamp-shades!" 

Toby  bore  her  off  in  triumph  to  inspect  his 
works  of  art.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  under 
standing  in  Toby's  head  despite  its  curls  which  he 
kept  so  resolutely  cropped.  He  attended  to  busi 
ness  without  a  hint  of  surprise  or  inattention.  And 
he  was  presently  rewarded  for  his  good  behaviour. 

Averil,  raising  her  eyes  for  a  moment  from  one 
of  the  shades  which  she  was  tacking  together  while 
he  held  it  in  shape,  said  presently : 

"A  very  peculiar  thing  happened  to  me  this 
morning,  Mr.  Carey." 


296  Rosa  Mundi 

"Yes?"  he  replied,  trying  to  keep  the  note  of 
expectancy  out  of  his  voice. 

Averil  nodded  gravely.  "I  crossed  the  Fron 
tier,"  she  said,  "and  rode  into  the  mountains.  I 
thought  I  heard  a  child  crying.  I  lost  my  way  and 
fell  among  thieves." 

"Yes?"  said  Toby  again.  He  looked  up, 
frankly  interested  this  time. 

' '  I  was  shot  at, "  she  resumed.  ' '  It  was  my  own 
fault,  of  course.  I  shouldn't  have  gone.  My 
brother-in-law  warned  me  very  seriously  against 
going  an  inch  beyond  the  Frontier  only  last  night. 
Well,  one  buys  one's  experience.  I  certainly  shall 
never  go  again,  not  for  a  hundred  wailing  babies." 

"Probably  a  bird,"  remarked  Toby  practically. 

"Probably,"  assented  Averil,  equally  practical. 
"To  continue:  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  was 
horribly  frightened.  I  had  lost  my  bearings. 
And  then  out  of  the  very  midst  of  my  enemies 
there  came  a  friend." 

"Ah!"  said  Toby  quickly.     "The  right  sort?" 

"There  is  only  one  sort,"  she  said,  with  a  touch 
of  dignity. 

"And  what  did  he  do?"  said  Toby,  with  eager 
interest. 

"He  simply  took  my  bridle  and  ran  by  my  side 
till  we  were  out  of  danger,"  Averil  said,  a  sudden 
soft  glow  creeping  up  over  her  face. 

Toby  looked  at  her  very  seriously.  "In  native 
rig,  I  suppose?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Averil. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       297 

"Carlyon  of  the  Frontier,"  said  Toby,  with 
abrupt  decision. 

She  nodded.  "I  did  not  know  he  had  left 
England,"  she  said. 

"He  hasn't — officially  speaking,"  said  To 
by.  He  was  watching  her  steadily.  "Do  you 
know,  Miss  Eversley,"  he  said,  "I  think  I 
wouldn't  mention  your  discovery  to  any  one 
else?" 

"I  am  not  going  to,"  she  said. 

"No?  Then  why  did  you  tell  me?"  he  asked, 
with  a  tinge  of  rude  suspicion  in  his  voice. 

Averil  looked  him  suddenly  and  steadily  in  the 
face.  It  was  a  very  innocent  face  that  Toby  Carey 
presented  to  a  serenely  credulous  world. 

"Because,"  said  Averil  slowly,  "he  told  me  to 
tell  you  alone.  'Tell  Toby  Carey  only,'  he  said, 
'to  watch  when  the  beasts  go  down  to  drink.' 
They  were  his  last  words." 

"Good!"  said  Toby  unconcernedly.  "Then  he 
knew  you  recognized  him?" 

"Yes,"  Averil  said;  "he  knew."  She  smiled 
faintly  as  she  said  it.  "He  told  me  he  was  in  no 
danger,"  she  added. 

"Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?"  asked  Toby  sharply. 

"Yes,"  said  Averil,  with  pride. 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Toby  bluntly. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  with  a  swift  flash  of  anger. 

"Why?"  he  echoed  vehemently.  "Ask  your 
brother-in-law,  ask  Seddon,  ask  any  one!  The 
man  is  a  fiend!" 


298  Rosa  Mundi 

Averil  sprang  to  her  feet  in  sudden  fury. 

' '  How  dare  you ! ' '  she  cried  passionately.  ' '  He 
is  a  king ! ' 

Toby  stared  for  a  moment,  then  grew  calm. 
"We  are  not  talking  about  the  same  man,  Miss 
Eversley,"  he  said  shortly.  "The  man  I  know  is 
a  fiend  among  fiends.  The  man  you  know  is,  no 
doubt — different. ' ' 

But  Averil  swept  from  the  club-room  without  a 
word.  She  was  very  angry  with  Toby  Carey. 

VII 

THE  REAL  COLONEL  CARLYON 

AVERIL  rode  back  to  her  brother-in-law's 
bungalow,  vexed  with  herself,  weary  at  heart, 
troubled.  She  had  arrived  at  the  station  among 
the  mountains  on  the  Frontier  two  months  before, 
and  had  spent  a  very  happy  time  there  with  the 
sister  whom  she  had  not  seen  for  years.  The 
ladies  of  the  station  numbered  a  very  scanty 
minority,  but  there  was  no  lack  of  gaiety  and 
merriment  on  that  account. 

That  the  hills  beyond  the  Great  Frontier  were 
peopled  by  tribes  in  a  seething  state  of  discontent 
was  a  matter  known,  but  little  recked  of,  by  the 
majority  of  the  community.  Officers  went  their 
several  ways,  fully  awake  to  threatening  rumours, 
but  counting  them  of  small  importance.  They 
went  to  their  sport;  to  their  polo,  their  racing, 


The  Secret  Service  Man       299 

their  gymkhanas,  with  light  hearts  and  in  perfect 
security.  They  lay  down  in  the  dread  shadow  of 
a  mighty  Empire  and  slept  secure  in  the  very 
jaws  of  danger. 

The  fierce  and  fanatical  hatred  that  raged  over 
the  Frontier  was  less  than  nothing  to  most  of 
them.  The  power  that  sheltered  them  was  wholly 
sufficient  for  their  confidence. 

The  toughness  of  the  good  northern  breed  is  of  a 
quality  untearable,  made  to  endure  in  all  climates, 
under  all  conditions.  Ordered  to  carry  revolvers, 
they  stuffed  them  unloaded  into  side-pockets,  or 
left  them  in  the  hands  of  syces  to  bear  behind 
them. 

Proof  positive  of  their  total  failure  to  realize  the 
danger  that  threatened  from  amidst  the  frowning, 
grey-cragged  mountains  was  the  fact  that  their 
womenkind  were  allowed  to  remain  at  the  station, 
and  even  rode  and  drove  forth  unattended  on  the 
rocky,  mountain  roads. 

True,  they  were  warned  against  crossing  the 
Frontier.  A  few  officers,  of  whom  Captain  Ray 
mond,  who  was  Averil's  brother-in-law,  and  Toby 
Carey,  the  innocent-faced  subaltern,  were  two, 
saw  the  rising  wave  from  afar;  but  they  saw  it 
vaguely  as  inevitable  but  not  imminent.  Captain 
Raymond  planned  to  himself  to  send  his  wife  and 
her  sister  to  Simla  before  the  monsoon  broke  up  the 
fine  weather. 

And  this  was  all  he  accomplished  beyond 
administering  a  severe  reprimand  to  his  young 


300  Rosa  Mundi 

sister-in-law  for  running  into  danger  among  the 
hills. 

"There  are  always  thieves  waiting  to  bag  any 
one  foolish  enough  to  show  his  nose  over  the 
border,"  he  said.  "Isn't  the  Indian  Empire  large 
enough  for  you  that  you  must  needs  go  trespassing 
among  savages?" 

Averil  heard  him  out  with  the  patience  of  a 
slightly  wandering  attention.  She  had  not  re 
counted  the  whole  of  her  experience  for  his  benefit, 
nor  did  she  intend  to  do  so.  She  was  still  wonder 
ing  what  the  mysterious  message  she  had  delivered 
to  Toby  Carey  might  be  held  to  mean. 

When  Captain  Raymond  had  exhausted  himself 
she  went  away  to  her  own  room  and  sat  for  a  long 
while  gazing  towards  the  great  mountains,  think 
ing,  thinking. 

Her  sister  presently  joined  her.  Mrs.  Raymond 
was  a  dark-eyed,  merry -hearted  little  woman, 
the  gay  originator  of  many  a  frolic,  and  an  immense 
favourite  with  men  and  women  alike. 

"Poor  darling!  I  declare  Harry  has  made  you 
look  quite  miserable! "  was  her  exclamation,  as  she 
ran  lightly  in  and  seated  herself  on  the  arm  of 
Averil's  chair. 

"Harry!"  echoed  Averil,  in  a  tone  of  such 
genuine  scorn  that  Mrs.  Raymond  laughed  aloud. 

"You're  very  rude,"  she  said.  "Still,  I'm  glad 
Harry  isn't  the  offender.  Who  is  it,  I  wonder? 
But,  never  mind !  I  have  a  splendid  piece  of  news 
for  you,  dear.  Shut  your  eyes  and  guess ! " 


The  Secret  Service  Man       30 l 

"Oh,  I  can't  indeed!"  protested  Averil.  "I  am 
much  too  tired." 

Mrs.  Raymond  looked  at  her  with  laughing 
eyes. 

"There!  She  shan't  be  teased!"  she  cried 
gaily.  "It's  the  loveliest  surprise  you  ever  had, 
darling;  but  I  can't  keep  it  a  secret  any  longer. 
I  wanted  to  see  him  now  that  he  is  grown  up,  and 
quite  satisfy  myself  that  he  is  really  good  enough 
for  you.  So,  dear,  I  wrote  to  him  and  begged 
him  to  join  us  here.  And  the  result  is — now 
guess!" 

Averil  had  turned  sharply  to  look  at  her. 

"Do  you  mean  you  have  asked  Dick  to  come 
here?"  she  said,  in  a  quick,  startled  way. 

"Exactly,  dear;  I  actually  have,"  said  Mrs. 
Raymond.  "More — we  had  a  wire  this  morning. 
He  will  be  here  to  dinner." 

"Oh!"  said  Averil.  She  rose  hastily,  so  hastily 
that  her  sister  was  left  sitting  on  the  arm  of  the 
bamboo  chair,  which  instantly  overturned  on  the 
top  of  her. 

Averil  extricated  her  with  many  laughing  apolo 
gies,  and,  by  the  time  Mrs.  Raymond  had  re 
covered  her  equilibrium,  the  younger  girl  had 
lost  her  expression  of  astonishment  and  was  look 
ing  as  bright  and  eager  as  her  sister  could  desire. 

"Only  Dick  is  such  a  madcap,"  she  said.  "How 
shall  we  keep  him  from  getting  up  to  mischief  in 
No  Man's  Land  precisely  as  I  have  done?" 

Mrs.   Raymond  opined  that  Averil  ought  by 


302  Rosa  Mundi 

then  to  have  discovered  the  secret  of  managing 
the  young  man,  and  they  went  to  tiffin  on  the 
veranda  in  excellent  spirits. 

Dr.  Seddon  was  there  and  young  Steele,  one  of 
Raymond's  subalterns.  Averil  found  herself  next 
to  the  doctor,  who,  rather  to  her  surprise,  forebore 
to  twit  her  with  her  early  morning  adventure. 
He  was,  in  fact,  very  grave,  and  she  wondered 
why. 

Steele,  strolling  by  her  side  in  the  shady  com 
pound,  by  and  bye  volunteered  information. 

"Poor  old  Seddon  is  in  a  mortal  funk,"  he  said, 
"which  accounts  for  his  wretched  appetite.  He 
has  been  wasting  steadily  ever  since  Carlyon  went 
away.  He  thinks  Carlyon  is  the  only  fellow 
capable  of  taking  care  of  him.  No  one  else  is 
monster  enough." 

"Is  Colonel  Carlyon  expected  out  here?"  Averil 
asked,  in  a  casual  tone. 

One  of  Steele's  eyelids  contracted  a  little  as  if  it 
wanted  to  wink.  He  answered  her  in  a  low  voice: 
"Carlyon  is  never  expected  before  his  arrival,  Miss 
Eversley." 

"No?"  said  Averil  indifferently.  "And,  why, 
please  do  you  call  him  a  monster?" 

Steele  laughed  a  little.  "Didn't  you  know?" 
he  said.  "Why,  he  is  the  King  of  Evil  in  these 
parts!" 

Averil  felt  her  face  slowly  flushing.  "I  don't 
understand,"  she  said. 

"Don't  you?"  said  Steele.     "Honestly  now?" 


The  Secret  Service  Man       303 

The  flush  heightened.  "Of  course  I  don't,"  she 
said.  "Otherwise  why  should  I  tell  you  so?" 

"Pardon!"  said  Steele,  unabashed.  "Well, 
then,  you  must  know  that  we  are  all  frightened  of 
Carlyon  of  the  Frontier.  We  hate  him  badly,  but 
he  has  the  whip-hand  of  us,  and  so  we  have  to  do 
the  tame  trot  for  him.  Over  there  " — he  jerked  his 
head  towards  the  mountains — "they  would  lie 
down  in  a  row  miles  long  and  let  him  walk  over 
their  necks.  And  not  a  single  blackguard  among 
them  would  dare  to  stab  upwards,  because  Carlyon 
is  immortal,  as  everyone  knows,  and  it  wouldn't  be 
worth  the  blackguard's  while  to  survive  the  deed. 

"They  don't  call  him  Carlyon  in  the  mountains, 
but  it's  the  same  man,  for  all  that.  He  is  a 
prophet,  a  deity,  among  them.  They  believe  in 
him  blindly  as  a  special  messenger  from  Heaven. 
And  he  plays  with  them,  barters  them,  betrays 
them,  every  single  day  he  spends  among  them. 
He  is  strong,  he  is  unscrupulous,  he  is  merciless. 
He  respects  no  friendship.  He  keeps  no  oath.  He 
betrays,  he  tortures,  he  slays.  Even  we,  the 
enlightened  race,  shrink  from  him  as  if  he  were 
the  very  fiend  incarnate. 

"But  he  is  a  valuable  man.  The  information  he 
obtains  is  priceless.  But  he  trades  with  blood. 
He  lives  on  treachery.  He  is  more  subtle  than  the 
subtlest  Pathan.  He  would  betray  any  one  or  all 
of  us  to  death  if  it  were  to  the  interest  of  the 
Empire  that  we  should  be  sacrified.  That,  you 
know,  in  reason,  is  all  very  well.  But,  personally, 


304  Rosa  Mundi 

I  would  sooner  tread  barefoot  on  a  scorpion  than 
get  entangled  in  Carlyon's  web.  He  is  more  false 
and  more  cruel  than  a  serpent.  At  least,  that  is 
his  reputation  among  us.  And  those  heathen 
beggars  trust  him  so  utterly." 

Steele  stopped  abruptly.  He  had  spoken  with 
strong  passion.  His  honest  face  was  glowing 
with  indignation.  He  was  British  to  the  back 
bone,  and  he  loathed  all  treachery  instinctively. 

Suddenly  he  saw  that  the  girl  beside  him  had 
turned  very  white.  He  paused  in  his  walk  with  an 
awkward  sense  of  having  spoken  unadvisedly. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  with  a  boyish  effort  tore- 
cover  his  ground, ' '  it  has  to  be  done.  Someone  must 
do  the  dirty  work.  But  that  doesn't  make  you  like 
the  man  who  does  it  a  bit  the  better.  One  wouldn't 
brush  shoulders  with  the  hangman  if  one  knew  it." 

Averil  was  standing  still.  Her  hands  were 
clenched. 

"Are  you  talking  of  Colonel  Carlyon — my 
friend?"  she  said  slowly. 

Steele  turned  sharply  away  from  the  wide  gaze 
of  her  grey  eyes. 

"I  hope  not,  Miss  Eversley,"  he  said.  "The  man 
I  mean  is  not  fit  to  be  the  friend  of  any  woman." 

VIII 

THE  STRANGER  ON  THE  VERANDA 

IT  was  to  all  outward  seeming  a  very  gay  crowd 
that  assembled  at  the  club-house  on  the  following 


The  Secret  Service  Man       305 

night  for  the  first  dance  of  the  season.  For  some 
unexplained  reason  sentries  had  been  doubled  on 
all  sides  of  the  Camp,  but  no  one  seemed  to  have 
any  anxiety  on  that  account. 

"We  ought  to  feel  all  the  safer,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Raymond  when  she  heard.  "No  one  ever  took 
such  care  of  us  before." 

"It  must  be  all  rot,"  said  Derrick  who  had 
arrived  the  previous  evening  in  excellent  spirits. 
"  If  there  were  the  smallest  danger  of  a  rising  you 
wouldn't  be  here." 

"Quite  true,"  laughed  Mrs.  Raymond,  "unless 
the  road  to  Fort  Akbar  is  considered  unsafe." 

"I  never  saw  a  single  border  thief  all  the  way 
here!"  declared  Derrick,  departing  to  look  for 
Averil. 

He  claimed  the  first  waltz  imperiously,  and  she 
gave  it  to  him.  She  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
room,  and  she  danced  with  a  queenly  grace  of 
movement.  Derrick  was  delighted.  He  did  not 
like  giving  her  up,  but  Steele  was  insistent  on  this 
point.  He  had  made  Derrick's  acquaintance  in 
the  Frontier  campaign  of  a  year  before,  and  he 
parted  the  two  without  scruple,  declaring  he  would 
not  stand  by  and  see  a  good  chap  like  Derrick  make 
a  selfish  beast  of  himself  on  such  an  occasion. 

Derrick  gave  place  with  a  laugh  and  sought 
other  partners.  In  the  middle  of  the  evening 
Toby  Carey  strolled  up  to  Averil  and  bent  down  in 
a  conversational  attitude.  He  was  not  dancing 
himself.  She  gave  him  a  somewhat  cold  welcome. 


306  Rosa  Mundi 

After  a  few  commonplace  words  he  took  her  fan 
from  her  hand  and  whispered  to  her  behind  it : 

"There's  a  fellow  on  the  veranda  waiting  to 
speak  to  you,"  he  said.  "Calls  himself  a  friend." 

Her  heart  leapt  at  the  murmured  words.  She 
glanced  hurriedly  round.  Everyone  in  the  room 
was  dancing.  She  had  pleaded  fatigue.  She  rose 
quietly  and  stepped  to  the  window,  Toby  following. 

She  stood  a  moment  on  the  threshold  of  the 
night  and  then  passed  slowly  out.  All  about  her 
was  dark. 

"Go  on  to  the  steps!"  murmured  Toby  behind 
her.  "I  shall  keep  watch." 

She  went  on  with  gathering  speed.  At  the  head 
of  the  veranda-steps  she  dimly  discerned  a  figure 
waiting  for  her,  a  figure  clothed  in  some  white, 
muffling  garment  that  seemed  to  cover  the  face. 
And  yet  she  knew  by  all  her  bounding  pulses  whom 
she  had  found. 

"  Colonel  Carlyon ! "  she  said,  and  on  the  impulse 
of  the  moment  she  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

His  quiet  voice  answered  her  out  of  the  strange 
folds.  "Come  into  the  garden  a  moment!"  he 
said. 

She  went  with  him  unquestioning,  with  the  con 
fidence  of  a  child.  He  led  her  with  silent,  stealthy 
tread  into  the  deepest  gloom  the  compound 
afforded.  Then  he  stopped  and  faced  her  with  a 
question  that  sent  a  sudden  tumult  of  doubt  racing 
through  her  brain. 

"Will  you  take  a  message  to  Fort  Akbar  for 


The  Secret  Service  Man       307 

me,  Averil?"  he  said.  "A  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

A  message!  Averil' s  heart  stood  suddenly 
still.  All  the  evil  report  that  she  had  heard  of 
this  man  raised  its  head  like  a  serpent  roused  from 
slumber,  a  serpent  that  had  hidden  in  her  breast, 
and  a  terrible  agony  of  fear  took  the  place  of  her 
confidence. 

Carlyon  waited  for  her  answer  without  a  sign 
of  impatience.  Through  her  mind,  as  it  were  on 
wheels  of  fire,  Steele's  passionate  words  were 
running:  "He  lives  on  treachery.  He  would  be 
tray  any  one  or  all  of  us  to  death  if  it  were  to  the 
interest  of  the  Empire  that  we  should  be  sacri 
ficed."  And  again:  "I  would  sooner  tread  bare 
foot  on  a  scorpion  than  get  entangled  in  Carlyon's 
web." 

All  this  she  would  once  have  dismissed  as  vilest 
calumny.  But  Carlyon's  abandonment  of  Der 
rick,  and  his  subsequent  explanation  thereof,  were 
terribly  overwhelming  evidence  against  him.  And 
now  this  man,  this  spy,  wanted  to  use  her  as  an 
instrument  to  accomplish  some  secret  end  of  his. 

A  matter  of  life  or  death,  he  said.  And  for 
which  of  these  did  he  purpose  to  use  her  efforts? 
Averil  sickened  at  the  possibilities  the  question 
raised  in  her  mind.  And  still  Carlyon  waited  for 
her  answer. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a 
quivering  whisper.  "What  is  the  message  you 
want  to  send?" 


308  Rosa  Mundi 

' '  You  delivered  a  message  for  me  only  yesterday 
without  a  single  question,"  he  said. 

She  wrung  her  hands  together  in  the  darkness. 
"I  know.  I  know,"  she  said;  "but  then  I  did  not 
realize." 

"You  saved  the  camp  from  destruction,"  he 
went  on.  "  Will  you  not  do  the  same  to-night  ? " 

"How  shall  I  know?"  she  sobbed  in  anguish. 

"What  have  they  been  telling  you?" 

The  quiet  voice  came  in  strange  contrast  to  the 
agitated  uncertainty  of  her  tones.  Carlyon  laid 
steady  hands  on  her  shoulders.  In  the  dim  light 
his  eyes  had  leapt  to  blue  flame,  sudden,  intense. 
She  hid  her  face  from  their  searching;  ashamed, 
horrified  at  her  own  doubts — yet  still  doubting. 

' '  Your  friendship  has  stood  a  heavier  strain  than 
this,"  Carlyon  said,  with  grave  reproach. 

But  she  could  not  answer  him.  She  dared 
scarcely  face  her  own  thoughts  privately,  much 
less  utter  them  to  him. 

What  if  he  were  urging  the  tribes  to  rise  to  give 
the  Government  a  pretext  for  war  ?  She  had  heard 
him  say  that  peace  had  come  too  soon,  that  war 
alone  could  remedy  the  evil  of  constantly  recurring 
outrages  along  that  troublous  Frontier. 

What  if  he  counted  the  lives  of  a  few  women  and 
their  gallant  protectors  as  but  a  little  price  to  pay 
for  the  accomplishment  of  this  end? 

What  if  he  purposed  to  make  this  awful  sacrifice 
in  the  interests  of  the  Empire,  and  only  asked  this 
thing  of  her  because  no  other  would  undertake  it  ? 


The  Secret  Service  Man       309 

She  lifted  her  face.  He  was  still  looking  at  her 
with  those  strange,  burning  eyes  that  seemed  to 
pierce  her  very  soul. 

"  Averil,"  he  said,  "you  may  do  a  great  thing  for 
the  Empire  to-night — if  you  will." 

The  Empire !  Ah,  what  fearful  things  would  he 
not  do  behind  that  mask!  Yet  she  stood  silent, 
bound  by  the  spell  of  his  presence. 

Carlyon  went  on.  "There  is  going  to  be  a 
rising,  but  we  shall  hold  our  own,  I  hope  without 
loss.  You  can  ride  a  horse,  and  I  can  trust  you. 
This  message  must  be  delivered  to-night.  There  is 
not  an  officer  at  liberty.  I  would  not  send  one  if 
there  were.  Every  man  will  be  wanted.  Averil, 
will  you  go  for  me?" 

He  was  holding  her  very  gently  between  his 
hands.  He  seemed  to  be  pleading  with  her.  Her 
resolution  began  to  waver.  They  had  shattered 
her  idol,  yet  she  clung  fast  to  the  crumbling 
shrine. 

"You  will  not  let  them  be  killed  ? "  she  whispered 
piteously.  "  Oh,  promise  me !" 

"No  one  belonging  to  this  camp  will  be  killed  if 
I  can  help  it,"  he  said.  "You  will  tell  them  at 
Fort  Akbar  that  we  are  prepared  here.  General 
Harford  is  marching  to  join  them  from  Fort  Wara. 
Whatever  they  may  hear  they  must  not  dream  of 
moving  to  join  us  till  he  reaches  them.  They  are 
not  strong  enough.  They  would  be  cut  to  pieces. 
That  is  the  message  you  are  going  to  take  for  me. 
Their  garrison  is  too  small  to  be  split  up,  and 


310  Rosa  Mundi 

Fort  Akbar  must  be  protected  at  all  costs.  It  is 
a  more  important  post  than  this  even." 

"But  there  are  women  here,"  Averil  whispered. 

"They  are  under  my  protection,"  said  Carlyon 
quietly.  "I  want  you  to  start  at  once — before 
we  shut  the  gates." 

"Have  they  taken  you  by  surprise,  then?"  she 
asked,  with  a  sharp,  involuntary  shiver. 

"No,"  Carlyon  said.  "They  have  taken  the 
Government  by  surprise.  That's  all."  He  spoke 
with  strong  bitterness.  For  he  was  the  watch 
man  who  had  awaked  in  vain. 

A  moment  later  he  was  drawing  her  with  him 
along  the  shadowy  path. 

"You  need  have  no  fear,"  he  whispered  to  her. 
"The  road  is  open  all  the  way.  I  have  a  horse 
waiting  that  will  carry  you  safely.  It  is  barely  ten 
miles.  You  have  done  it  before." 

"Am  I  to  go  just  as  I  am?"  she  asked  him,  car 
ried  away  by  his  unfaltering  resolution. 

"Yes,"  said  Carlyon,  "except  for  this."  He 
loosened  the  chuddah  from  his  own  head  and 
stooped  to  muffle  it  about  hers.  ' '  I  have  provided 
for  your  going,"  he  said.  "You  will  see  no  one. 
You  know  the  way.  Go  hard!" 

He  moved  on  again.  His  arm  was  round  her 
shoulders. 

"And  you?"  she  said,  with  sudden  misgiving. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to  the  camp,"  he  said,  "when  I 
have  seen  you  go." 

They    went    a    little    farther,    ghostly,    white 


The  Secret  Service  Man       311 

figures  gliding  side  by  side.  Wildly  as  her  heart 
was  beating,  Averil  felt  that  it  was  all  strangely 
unreal,  felt  that  the  man  beside  her  was  a  being 
unknown  and  mysterious,  almost  supernatural. 
And  yet,  strangely,  she  did  not  fear  him.  As 
she  had  once  said  to  him,  she  believed  he  was  a 
good  man.  She  would  always  believe  it.  And 
yet  was  that  awful  doubt  hammering  through  her 
brain. 

They  reached  the  bounds  of  the  club  compound 
and  Carlyon  stopped  again.  From  the  building 
behind  them  there  floated  the  notes  of  a  waltz, 
weird,  dream-like,  sweet  as  the  earth  after  rain  in 
summer. 

"I  want  to  know,"  Carlyon  said  steadily,  "if 
you  trust  me." 

She  stretched  up  her  hands  like  a  child  and  laid 
them  against  his  breast.  She  answered  him  with 
piteous  entreaty  in  which  passion  strangely 
mingled. 

"Colonel  Carlyon,"  she  whispered  brokenly, 
"promise  me  that  when  this  is  over  you  will  give  it 
up !  You  were  not  made  to  spy  and  betray !  You 
were  made  an  honourable,  true-hearted  man — 
God's  greatest  and  best  creation.  You  were 
never  meant  to  be  twisted  and  warped  to  an  evil 
use.  Ah,  tell  me  you  will  give  it  up !  How  can  I 
go  away  and  leave  you  toiling  in  the  dungeons?  " 

"Hush!"  said  Carlyon.  "You  do  not  under 
stand." 

Later,  she  remembered  with  what  tenderness  he 


312  Rosa  Mundi 

gathered  her  hands  again  into  his  own,  holding 
them  reverently.  At  the  time  she  realized  nothing 
but  the  monstrous  pity  of  his  wasted  life. 

"It  isn't  true!"  she  sobbed.  "You  would  not 
sacrifice  your  friends?" 

"Never!"  said  Carlyon  sharply. 

He  paused.  Then —  "You  must  go,  Averil,"  he 
said.  "There  are  two  sentries  on  the  Buddhist 
road,  and  the  password  is  'Empire.'  After  that- 
straight  to  Akbar.  The  moon  is  rising,  and  no  one 
will  speak  to  you  or  attempt  to  stop  you.  You 
will  not  be  afraid?" 

"I  trust  you,"  she  said  very  earnestly. 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  the  moon  shot  the  first 
silver  streak  above  the  frowning  mountains,  a 
white  horse  flashed  out  on  the  road  beyond  the 
camp — a  white  horse  bearing  a  white-robed  rider. 

On  the  edge  of  the  camp  one  sentry  turned  to 
another  with  wonder  on  his  face. 

"That  messenger's  journey  will  be  soon  over," 
he  remarked.  "An  easy  target  for  the  black 
fiends!" 

In  the  mountains  a  dusky-faced  hillman  turned 
glittering,  awe-struck  eyes  upon  the  flying  white 
figure. 

" Behold ! "  he  said.  "The  Heaven-sent  rides  to 
the  moonrise  even  as  he  foretold.  The  time  draws 
near." 

And  Carlyon,  walking  back  in  strange  garb  to 
join  his  own  people,  muttered  to  himself  as  he 
went:  "One  woman,  at  least,  is  safe!" 


The  Secret  Service  Man       313 

IX 

A  FIGHT  IN  THE  NIGHT 

AN  hour  before  daybreak  the  gathering  wave 
broke  upon  the  camp.  It  was  Toby  Carey  who 
ran  hurriedly  in  upon  the  dancers  in  the  club-room 
when  they  were  about  to  disperse  and  briefly 
announced  that  there  was  going  to  be  a  fight.  He 
added  that  Carlyon  was  at  the  mess-house,  and 
desired  all  the  men  to  join  him  there.  The  women 
were  to  remain  at  the  club,  which  was  already 
surrounded  by  a  party  of  Sikhs  and  Goorkhas. 
Toby  begged  them  to  believe  they  were  in  no 
danger. 

"Where  is  Averil?"  cried  Mrs.  Raymond  dis 
tractedly. 

"Carlyon  has  already  provided  for  her  safety," 
Toby  assured  her,  as  he  raced  off  again. 

Five  minutes  later  Carlyon,  issuing  rapid 
orders  in  the  veranda  of  the  mess-house,  turned  at 
the  grip  of  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  saw  Derrick, 
behind  him,  wild-eyed  and  desperate. 

"What  have  you  done  with  Averil?"  the  boy 
said  through  white  lips. 

"She  is  safe  at  Akbar,"  Carlyon  briefly  replied. 
Then,  as  Derrick  instantly  wheeled,  he  caught  him 
swiftly  by  the  arm. 

"You  wait,  Dick!"  he  said.  "I  have  work  for 
you." 

"Let  me  go!"  flashed  Derrick  fiercely. 


3H  Rosa  Mundi 

But  Carlyon  maintained  his  hold.  He  knew 
what  was  in  the  lad's  mind. 

"It  can't  be  done,"  he  said.  "It  would  be 
certain  death  if  you  attempted  it.  We  are  cut  off 
for  the  present." 

He  interrupted  himself  to  speak  to  an  officer 
who  was  awaiting  an  order  then  turned  again  to 
Derrick. 

"I  tell  you  the  truth,  Dick,"  he  said,  a  sudden 
note  of  kindliness  in  his  voice.  "She  is  safe.  I 
had  the  opportunity — for  one  only.  I  took  it — for 
her.  You  can't  follow  her.  You  have  forfeited 
your  right  to  throw  away  your  life.  Don't  forget 
it,  boy,  ever!  You  have  got  to  live  for  her  and 
let  the  blackguards  take  the  risks." 

He  ended  with  a  faint  smile,  and  Derrick  fell 
back  abashed,  an  unwilling  admiration  struggling 
with  the  sullenness  of  his  submission. 

Later,  at  Carlyon's  order,  he  joined  the  party 
that  had  been  detailed  to  watch  over  the  club 
house,  the  most  precious  and  the  safest  position 
in  the  whole  station.  He  chafed  sorely  at  the 
inaction,  but  he  repressed  his  feelings. 

Carlyon's  words  had  touched  him  in  the  right 
place.  Though  fiercely  restless  still,  his  manhood 
had  been  stirred,  and  gradually  the  strength,  the 
unflinching  resolution  that  had  dominated  Averil, 
took  the  place  of  his  feverish  excitement.  Derrick, 
the  impulsive  and  headstrong,  became  the  main 
stay  as  well  as  the  undismayed  protector  of  the 
women  during  that  night  scare  of  the  Frontier. 


The  Secret  Service  Man       315 

There  was  sharp  fighting  down  in  the  camp. 
They  heard  the  firing  and  the  shouts;  but  with 
the  sunrise  there  came  a  lull.  The  women  turned 
white  faces  to  one  another  and  wondered  if  it 
could  be  over. 

Presently  Derrick  entered  with  the  latest  news. 
The  tribesmen  had  been  temporarily  beaten  off,  he 
said,  but  the  hills  were  full  of  them.  Their  own 
losses  during  the  night  amounted  to  two  wounded 
sepoys.  Fighting  during  the  day  was  not  anti 
cipated. 

Carlyon,  snatching  hasty  refreshment  in  a  hut 
near  the  scene  of  the  hottest  fighting,  turned 
grimly  to  Raymond,  his  second  in  command,  as 
gradual  quiet  descended  upon  the  camp. 

"You  will  see  strange  things  to-night,"  he  said. 

Raymond,  whose  right  wrist  had  been  grazed  by 
a  bullet,  was  trying  clumsily  to  bandage  it  with  his 
handkerchief. 

' '  How  long  is  it  going  to  last  ? "  he  said. 

"To-night  will  see  the  end  of  it,"  said  Carlyon, 
quietly  going  to  his  assistance.  "The  rising  has 
been  brewing  for  some  time.  The  tribesmen 
need  a  lesson,  so  does  the  Government.  It  is 
just  a  bubble — this.  It  will  explode  to-night.  To 
be  honest  for  once" — Carlyon  smiled  a  little  over 
his  bandaging — "I  did  not  expect  this  attack  so 
soon.  A  Heaven-sent  messenger  has  been  among 
the  tribesmen.  They  revere  him  almost  as  much 
as  the  great  prophet  himself.  He  has  been  listen 
ing  to  their  murmurings." 


316  Rosa  Mundi 

Carlyon  paused.  Raymond  was  watching  him 
intently,  but  the  quiet  face  bent  over  his  wound 
told  him  nothing. 

"Had  I  known  what  was  coming,"  Carlyon  said, 
"so  much  as  three  days  ago,  the  women  would  not 
now  be  in  the  station.  As  things  are,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  weaken  the  garrison  to 
supply  them  with  an  escort  to  Akbar." 

Raymond  stifled  a  deep  curse  in  his  throat. 
Had  they  but  known  indeed! 

Carlyon  went  on  in  his  deliberate  way :  "  I  shall 
leave  you  in  command  here  to-night.  I  have  other 
work  to  do.  General  Harford  will  be  here  at 
dawn.  The  attacking  force  will  be  on  the  east 
of  the  camp.  You  will  crush  them  between  you! 
You  will  stamp  them  down  without  mercy.  Let 
them  see  the  Empire  is  ready  for  them!  They 
will  not  trouble  us  again  for  perhaps  a  few  years." 

Again  he  paused.  Raymond  asked  no  question. 
Better  than  most  he  knew  Carlyon  of  the  Frontier. 

"It  will  be  a  hard  blow,"  Carlyon  said.  "The 
tribesmen  are  very  confident.  Last  night  they 
watched  a  messenger  ride  eastwards  on  a  white 
horse.  It  was  an  omen  foretold  by  the  Heaven 
sent  when  he  left  them  to  carry  the  message 
through  the  hills  to  other  tribes." 

Raymond  gave  a  great  start.  "The  girl!"  he 
said. 

For  a  second  Carlyon 's  eyes  met  his  look.  They 
were  intensely  blue,  with  the  blueness  of  a  flame. 

"She  is  safe  at  Akbar,"  he  said,  returning  with- 


The  Secret  Service  Man       3J7 

out  emotion  to  the  knotting  of  the  bandage.  ' '  The 
road  was  open  for  the  messenger.  The  horse  was 
swift.  There  is  one  woman  less  to  take  the  risk." 

"I  see,"  said  Raymond  quietly.  He  was  frown 
ing  a  little,  but  not  at  Carlyon's  strategy. 

"The  rest,"  Carlyon  continued,  "must  be  fought 
for.  The  moon  is  full  to-night.  The  Great  Fakir 
will  come  out  of  the  hills  in  his  zeal  and  lead  the 
tribes  himself .  Guard  the  east !" 

Raymond  drew  a  sharp  breath.  But  Carlyon's 
hand  on  his  shoulder  silenced  the  astounded  ques 
tion  on  his  lips. 

"We  have  got  to  protect  the  women,"  Carlyon 
said.  ' '  Relief  will  come  at  dawn. ' ' 


SAVED  A  SECOND  TIME 

ALL  through  the  day  quiet  reigned.  An 
occasional  sword-glint  in  the  mountains,  an 
occasional  gleam  of  white  against  the  brown  hill 
side;  these  were  the  only  evidences  of  an  active 
enemy. 

The  women  were  released  from  durance  in  the 
club-house,  with  strict  orders  to  return  in  the  early 
evening. 

Derrick  went  restlessly  through  the  camp,  seek 
ing  Carlyon.  He  found  him  superintending  the 
throwing-up  of  earthworks.  The  most  exposed 


Rosa  Mundi 


part  of  the  camp  was  to  be  abandoned.  Derrick 
joined  him  in  silence.  Somehow  this  man's 
personality  attracted  him  strongly.  Though  he 
had  defied  him,  quarrelled  with  him,  insulted  him, 
the  spell  of  his  presence  was  irresistible. 

Carlyon  paid  small  attention  to  him  till  he 
turned  to  leave  that  part  of  the  camp's  defences. 
Then,  with  a  careless  hand  through  Derrick's 
arm,  he  said  : 

"You  will  have  your  fill  of  stiff  fighting  to-night, 
boy.  But,  remember,  you  are  not  to  throw 
yourself  away." 

As  evening  fell,  the  attack  was  resumed,  and 
it  continued  throughout  the  night.  Tribesmen 
charged  up  to  the  very  breastworks  themselves 
and  fell  before  the  awful  fire  of  the  defenders' 
rifles.  Death  had  no  terrors  for  them.  They 
strove  for  the  mastery  with  fanatical  zeal.  But 
they  strove  in  vain.  A  greater  force  than  they 
possessed,  the  force  of  discipline  and  organized 
resistance  —  kept  them  at  bay.  Behind  the  splen 
did  courage  of  the  Indian  soldiers  were  the  resource 
and  the  resolution  of  a  handful  of  Englishmen. 
The  spirit  of  the  conquering  race,  unquenchable, 
irresistible,  weighed  down  the  balance. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Captain  Raymond 
was  hit  in  the  shoulder  and  carried,  fainting,  to 
the  closely  guarded  club-house,  where  his  wife  was 
waiting. 

The  command  devolved  upon  Lieutenant  Steele, 
who  took  up  the  task  undismayed.  Down  in  the 


The  Secret  Service  Man       3J9 

hastily  dug  trenches  Toby  Carey  was  fiercely 
holding  his  men  to  their  work. 

And  Derrick  Rose  was  with  him,  unrestrained 
for  that  night  at  least. 

' '  Relief  at  dawn ! ' '  Toby  said  to  him  once. 

And  Derrick  responded  with  a  wild  laugh. 

"Relief  be  damned!  We  can  hold  our  own 
without  it." 


Relief  came  with  the  dawn,  at  a  moment  when 
the  tribesmen  were  spurring  themselves  to  the 
greatest  effort  of  all,  sustained  by  the  knowledge 
that  their  Great  Fakir  was  among  them. 

General  Harford,  with  guides,  Sikhs,  Goorkhas, 
came  down  like  a  hurricane  from  the  south-east, 
cut  off  a  great  body  of  tribesmen  from  their  fellows, 
and  drove  them  headlong,  with  deadly  force,  upon 
the  defences  they  had  striven  so  furiously  to  take. 

The  defenders  sallied  out  to  meet  them  with 
fixed  bayonets.  The  brief  siege,  if  siege  it  could 
be  called,  was  over. 

In  the  early  light  Derrick  found  himself  fighting, 
fighting  furiously,  sword  to  sword.  And  the 
terrible  joy  of  the  conflict  ran  in  his  blood  like 
fire. 

"Ah!"  he  gasped.     "It's  good!     It's  good!" 

And  then  he  found  another  fighting  beside  him 
—a  mighty  fighting  man,  grim,  terrible,  silent. 
They  thrust  together;  they  withdrew  together; 
they  charged  together. 


320  Rosa  Mundi 

Once  an  enemy  seized  Derrick's  sword  and  he 
found  himself  vainly  struggling  against  the  awful, 
wild-faced  fanatic's  sinewy  grasp.  He  saw  the 
man's  upraised  arm,  and  knew  with  horrible  cer 
tainty  that  he  was  helpless,  helpless. 

Then  there  shot  out  a  swift,  rescuing  hand.  A 
straight  and  deadly  blow  was  struck.  And 
Derrick,  flinging  a  laugh  over  his  shoulder,  beheld 
a  man  dressed  as  a  tribesman  fall  headlong  over  his 
enemy's  body,  struck  to  the  earth  by  another 
swordsman. 

Like  lightning  there  flashed  through  his  brain 
the  memory  of  a  man  who  had  saved  his  life  more 
than  a  year  before  on  this  same  tumultuous 
Frontier — a  man  in  tribesman's  dress,  with  blue 
eyes  of  a  strange,  keen  friendliness.  He  had  it 
now.  This  was  the  Secret  Service  man.  Derrick 
planted  himself  squarely  over  the  prostrate  body, 
and  there  stood  while  the  fight  surged  on  about  him 
to  the  deadly  and  inevitable  end. 


XI 

THE  SECRET  OUT 

"ALL  Carlyon's  doing!"  General  Harford  said  a 
little  later.  "He  has  pulled  the  strings  through 
out,  from  their  very  midst.  Carlyon  the  ubi 
quitous,  Carlyon  the  silent,  Carlyon  the  watchful! 
He  has  averted  a  horrible  catastrophe.  The 


The  Secret  Service  Man       321 

Indian  Government  must  be  made  to  understand 
that  he  is  a  servant  worth  having.  They  say  he 
personally  led  the  tribesmen  to  their  death.  They 
certainly  walked  very  willingly  into  the  trap 
arranged  for  them.  Now,  where  is  Carlyon?" 

No  one  knew.  In  the  plain  outside  the  camp 
wounded  men  were  being  collected.  The  General 
was  relieved  to  hear  that  Carlyon  was  not  among 
them.  He  sat  down  to  make  his  report,  a  highly 
eulogistic  report,  of  this  man's  splendid  services. 
And  then  he  went  to  late  breakfast  at  the  club 
house. 

In  the  evening  Averil  rode  back  to  the  station 
with  an  escort.  The  terrible  traces  of  the  struggle 
were  not  wholly  removed.  They  rode  round  by 
a  longer  route  to  avoid  the  sight. 

Seddon  was  the  first  of  her  friends  who  saw  her. 
He  was  standing  inside  the  mess-house.  He  went 
hurriedly  forward  and  gave  her  brief  details  of  the 
fight.  Then,  while  they  were  talking,  Derrick 
himself  came  running  up.  He  greeted  her  with 
less  of  his  boyish  effusion  than  was  customary. 

"How  is  the  Secret  Service  man?"  he  asked 
abruptly  of  Seddon.  "Is  he  badly  damaged?" 

The  latter  looked  at  him  hard  for  a  second. 

"You  can  come  in  and  see  him,"  he  said,  and  led 
the  way  into  the  mess. 

Averil  and  Derrick  followed  him  hand  in  hand. 
In  a  few  low  words  the  boy  told  her  of  his  old 
friend's  reappearance. 

"He  has  saved  my  life  twice  over,"  he  said. 


322  Rosa  Mundi 

"He  has  saved  more  lives  than  yours,"  Seddon 
remarked  abruptly,  over  his  shoulder. 

He  led  the  way  to  the  little  ante-room  where, 
stretched  on  a  sofa,  lay  Derrick's  Secret  Service 
man.  He  was  dressed  in  white,  his  face  half 
covered  with  a  fold  of  his  head-dress.  But  the 
eyes  were  open — blue,  alert,  beneath  drooping 
lids.  He  was  speaking,  softly,  quickly,  as  a  man 
asleep. 

' '  The  women  must  be  protected , "  he  said .  ' '  Let 
the  blackguards  take  the  risks!" 

Averil  started  forward  with  a  cry,  and  in  a 
moment  was  kneeling  by  his  side.  The  strange 
eyes  were  turned  upon  her  instantly.  They  were 
watchful  still  and  exceeding  tender — the  eyes  of 
the  hero  she  loved.  They  faintly  smiled  at  her. 
To  his  death  he  would  keep  up  the  farce.  To  his 
death  he  would  never  show  her  the  secret  he  had 
borne  so  long. 

"Ah!  The  message!"  he  said,  with  an  effort. 
"You  gave  it?" 

"There  was  no  need  of  a  message,"  Averil  cried. 
"You  invented  it  to  get  me  away,  to  make  me 
escape  from  danger.  You  knew  that  otherwise  I 
would  not  have  gone.  It  was  your  only  reason 
for  sending  me." 

He  did  not  answer  her.  The  smile  died  slowly 
out.  His  eyes  passed  to  Derrick.  He  looked  at 
him  very  earnestly,  and  there  was  unutterable 
pleading  in  the  look. 

The   boy   stooped   forward.     Shocked   by   the 


The  Secret  Service  Man       323 

sudden  discovery,  he  yet  answered  as  it  were 
involuntarily  to  the  man's  unspoken  wish.  He 
knelt  down  beside  the  girl,  his  arm  about  her 
shoulders.  His  voice  came  with  a  great  sob. 

"The  Secret  Service  man  and  Carlyon  of  the 
Frontier  in  one!"  he  said.  "A  man  who  does  not 
forsake  his  friends.  I  might  have  known." 

There  was  a  pause,  a  great  silence.  Then  Carl- 
yon  of  the  Frontier  spoke  softly,  thoughtfully,  with 
grave  satisfaction  it  seemed.  He  looked  at  neither 
of  them,  but  beyond  them  both.  His  eyes  were 
steady  and  fearless. 

"A  blackguard — a  spy — yet  faithful  to  his 
friends — even  so,"  he  said;  and  died. 

The  boy  and  girl  were  left  to  each  other.  He 
had  meant  it  to  be  so — had  worked  for  it,  suffered 
for  it.  In  the  end  Carlyon  of  the  Frontier  had 
done  that  which  he  had  set  himself  to  do,  at  a  cost 
which  none  other  would  ever  know — not  even  the 
girl  who  had  loved  him. 


The   Penalty 


"Now  then,  you  fellows,  step  out  there!  Step 
out  like  the  men  you  are!  Left — right!  Left- 
right!  That's  the  way!  Holy  Jupiter!  Call 
those  chaps  savages!  They're  gentlemen,  every 
jack  one  of  'em.  That's  it,  my  hearties!  Salute 
the  old  flag!  By  Jove,  Monty,  a  British  squad 
couldn't  have  done  it  better!" 

The  speaker  pushed  back  his  helmet  to  wipe  his 
forehead.  He  was  very  much  in  earnest.  The 
African  sun  blazing  down  on  his  bronzed  face 
revealed  that.  The  blue  eyes  glittered  out  of  the 
lean,  tanned  countenance.  They  were  full  of 
resolution,  indomitable  resolution,  and  good 
British  pluck. 

As  the  little  company  of  black  men  swung  by, 
with  the  rhythmic  pad  of  their  bare  feet,  he 
suddenly  snatched  out  his  sword  and  waved  it 
high  in  the  smiting  sunlight. 

"Halt!  "he  cried. 

They  stood  as  one  man,  all  gleaming  eyes  and 
gleaming  teeth.  They  were  all  a  good  head  taller 

324 


The  Penalty  325 

than  the  Englishman  who  commanded  them,  but 
they  looked  upon  him  with  reverence,  as  a  being 
half  divine. 

"Now,  cheer,  you  beggars,  cheer!"  he  cried. 
"Three  cheers  for  the  King!  Hip,  hip 

"Hooray!"  came  in  hoarse  chorus  from  the 
assembled  troop.  It  sounded  like  a  war  cry. 

"Hip,  hip —  "  yelled  the  Englishman  again. 

And  again  "Hooray!"  came  the  answering  yell. 

"Hip,  hip—  "  for  the  third  time  from  the  man 
with  the  sword. 

And  for  the  third  time, ' '  Hooray !  "from  the  deep- 
chested  troopers  halted  in  the  blazing  sunshine. 

The  British  officer  turned  about  with  an  odd 
smile  quivering  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  There 
was  an  almost  maternal  tenderness  about  it. 

He  sheathed  his  sword. 

"You  beauties!"  he  murmured  softly.  "You 
beauties!"  Then  aloud,  "Very  good,  sergeant! 
Dismiss  them!  Come  along,  Monty!  Let's  go 
and  have  a  drink. " 

He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  the  silent  onlooker, 
and  drew  him  into  the  little  hut  of  rough-hewn 
timber  which  was  dignified  by  the  name,  printed 
in  white  letters  over  the  door,  of  "Officers' 
Quarters." 

"What  do  you  think  of  them?"  he  demanded, 
as  they  entered.  "Aren't  they  soldiers?  Aren't 
they  men?" 

"I  think,  Duncannon,"  the  other  answered 
slowly,  "that  you  have  worked  wonders." 


326  Rosa  Mundi 

"Ah,  you'll  tell  the  Chief  so?  Won't  he  be 
astounded?  He  swore  I  should  never  do  it; 
declared  they'd  knife  me  if  I  tried  to  hammer  any 
discipline  into  them.  Much  he  knows  about  it! 
Good  old  Chief!" 

He  laughed  boyishly,  and  again  wiped  his  hot 
face. 

"On  my  soul,  Monty,  it's  been  no  picnic,"  he 
declared.  "But  I'd  have  sacrificed  five  years' 
pay,  and  my  step  as  well,  gladly — gladly — sooner 
than  have  missed  it.  Here  you  are,  old  boy! 
Drink !  Drink  to  the  latest  auxiliary  force  in  the 
British  Empire !  Damn'  thirsty  climate,  this." 

He  tossed  his  helmet  aside,  and  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  table — a  lithe,  spare  figure,  brimming 
with  active  strength. 

"I've  literally  coaxed  those  chaps  into  shape," 
he  declared.  "Oh,  yes,  I've  bullied  'em  too- 
cursed  'em  right  and  left ;  but  they  never  turned  a 
hair — knew  it  was  all  for  their  good,  and  took  it 
lying  down.  I've  taught  'em  to  wash  too,  you 
know.  That  was  the  hardest  job  of  all.  I 
knocked  one  great  brute  all  round  the  parade- 
ground  one  day,  just  to  show  I  was  in  earnest. 
He  went  off  afterwards,  and  blubbed  like  a  baby. 
But  in  the  evening  I  found  him  squatting  outside, 
quite  naked,  and  as  clean  as  a  whistle.  To  quote 
the  newspapers,  I  was  profoundly  touched.  But 
I  didn't  show  it,  you  bet.  I  whacked  him  on  the 
shoulder,  and  told  him  to  be  a  man." 

He  broke  off  to  laugh  at  the  reminiscence;  and 


The  Penalty  327 

Montague  Herne  gravely  set  down  his  glass,  and 
turned  his  chair  with  its  back  to  the  sunlight. 

"Do  you  know  you've  been  here  eighteen 
months?"  he  said. 

Duncannon  nodded. 

"I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  born  here.     Why?" 

"Most  fellows,"  proceeded  Herne,  ignoring  the 
question,  "would  have  been  clamouring  for  leave 
long  ago.  Why,  you  have  scarcely  heard  your  own 
language  all  this  time." 

"I  have  though,"  said  Duncannon  quickly. 
"That's  another  thing  I've  taught  'em.  They 
picked  it  up  wonderfully  quickly.  There  isn't 
one  of  'em  who  doesn't  know  a  few  sentences 
now." 

"You  seem  to  have  found  your  vocation  in 
teaching  these  heathen  to  sit  up  and  beg," 
observed  Herne,  with  a  dry  smile. 

Duncannon  turned  dusky  red  under  his  tan. 

"Perhaps  I  have,"  he  said,  with  a  certain 
doggedness. 

Herne,  with  his  back  to  the  light,  was  watching 
him. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally,  "we've  served  our  turn. 
The  battalion  is  going  Home!" 

Duncannon  gave  a  great  start. 

"Already?" 

"After  two  years'  service,"  the  other  reminded 
him  grimly. 

Duncannon  fell  silent,  considering  the  matter 
with  bent  brows. 


328  Rosa  Mundi 

"Who  succeeds  us?"  he  asked  at  length. 

Herne  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  don't  know?"  There  was  sudden,  sharp 
anxiety  in  Duncannon's  voice.  He  got  off  the 
table  with  a  jerk.  "You  must  know,"  he  said. 

Herne  sat  motionless,  but  he  no  longer  looked 
the  other  in  the  face. 

"You've  taught  'em  to  fight,"  he  said  slowly. 
"They  are  men  enough  to  look  after  themselves 
now." 

"  What? "  Duncannon  flung  the  word  with  vio 
lence.  He  took  a  single  stride  forward,  standing 
over  Herne  in  an  attitude  that  was  almost  menac 
ing.  His  hands  were  clenched.  "What?"  he 
said  again. 

Herne  leaned  back,  and  felt  for  his  cigarette- 
case. 

"Take  it  easy,  old  chap!"  he  said.  "It  was 
bound  to  come,  you  know.  It  was  never  meant  to 
be  more  than  a  temporary  occupation  among  these 
friendlies.  They  have  been  useful  to  us,  I  admit. 
But  we  can't  fight  their  battles  for  them  for  ever. 
It's  time  for  them  to  stand  on  their  own  legs. 
Have  a  smoke!" 

Duncannon  ignored  the  invitation.  He  turned 
pale  to  the  lips.  For  a  space  of  seconds  he  said 
nothing  whatever.  Then  at  length,  slowly,  in  a 
voice  that  was  curiously  even,  "Yes,  I've  taught 
'em  to  fight,"  he  said.  "And  now  I'm  to  leave 
'em  to  be  massacred,  am  I?" 

Herne  shrugged  his  shoulders  again,  not  because 


The  Penalty  329 

he  was  actually  indifferent,  but  because,  under  the 
circumstances,  it  was  the  easiest  answer  to  make. 

Duncannon  went  on  in  the  same  dead-level 
tone: 

"Yes,  they've  been  useful  to  us,  these  friendlies. 
They've  made  common  cause  with  us  against 
those  infernal  Wandis.  They  might  have  stayed 
neutral,  or  they  might  have  whipped  us  off  the 
ground.  But  they  didn't.  They  brought  us 
supplies,  and  they  brought  us  mules,  and  they 
helped  us  along  generally,  and  hauled  us  out  of 
tight  corners.  They've  given  us  all  we  asked  for, 
and  more  to  it.  And  now  they  are  going  to  pay 
the  penalty,  to  reap  our  gratitude.  They're  going 
to  be  left  to  themselves  to  fight  our  enemies — the 
fellows  we  couldn't  beat — single-handed,  without 
experience,  without  a  leader,  and  only  half  trained. 
They  are  going  to  be  left  as  a  human  sacrifice  to 
pay  our  debts." 

He  paused,  standing  erect  and  tense,  staring  out 
into  the  blinding  sunlight.  Then  suddenly,  like 
the  swift  kindling  of  a  flame,  his  attitude  changed. 
He  flung  up  his  hands  with  a  wild  gesture. 

"No,  I'm  damned!"  he  cried  violently.  "I'm 
damned  if  they  shall !  They  are  my  men — the  men 
I  made.  I've  taught  'em  every  blessed  thing  they 
know.  I've  taught  'em  to  reverence  the  old  flag, 
and  I'm  damned  if  I'll  see  them  betrayed!  You 
can  go  back  to  the  Chief,  and  tell  him  so!  Tell 
him  they're  British  subjects,  staunch  to  the  back 
bone!  Why,  they  can  even  sing  the  first  verse  of 


330  Rosa  Mundi 

the  National  Anthem!  You'll  hear  them  at  it 
to-night  before  they  turn  in.  They  always  do.  It's 
a  sort  of  evening  hymn  to  them.  Oh,  Monty, 
Monty,  what  cursed  trick  will  our  fellows  think  of 
next,  I  wonder?  Are  we  men,  or  are  we  reptiles, 
we  English?  And  we  boast — we  boast  of  our 
national  honour!" 

He  broke  off,  breathing  short  and  hard,  as  a  man 
desperately  near  to  collapse,  and  leaned  his  head 
on  his  arm  against  the  rough  wall  as  if  in  shame. 

Herne  glanced  at  him  once  or  twice  before 
replying. 

"  You  see,"  he  said  at  length,  speaking  somewhat 
laboriously,  "what  we've  got  to  do  is  to  obey 
orders.  We  were  sent  out  here  not  to  think  but 
to  do.  We're  on  Government  service.  They  are 
responsible  for  the  thinking  part.  We  have  to 
carry  it  out,  that's  all.  They  have  decided  to 
evacuate  this  district,  and  withdraw  to  the  coast. 
So" — again  he  shrugged  his  shoulders — "there's 
no  more  to  be  said.  We  must  go." 

He  paused,  and  glanced  again  at  the  slight, 
khaki-clad  figure  that  leaned  against  the  wall. 

After  a  moment,  meeting  with  no  response,  he 
resumed. 

"There's  no  sense  in  taking  it  hard,  since  there  is 
no  help  for  it.  You  always  knew  that  it  was  an 
absolutely  temporary  business.  Of  course,  if  we 
could  have  smashed  the  Wandis,  these  chaps  would 
have  had  a  better  look-out.  But — well,  we 
haven't  smashed  them." 


The  Penalty  331 

"We  hadn't  enough  men!"  came  fiercely  from 
Duncannon. 

"True!  We  couldn't  afford  to  do  things  on  a 
large  scale.  Moreover,  it's  a  beastly  country,  as 
even  you  must  admit.  And  it  isn't  worth  a  big 
struggle.  Besides,  we  can't  occupy  half  the  world 
to  prevent  the  other  half  playing  the  deuce  with  it. 
Come,  Bobby,  don't  be  a  fool,  for  Heaven's  sake! 
You've  been  treated  as  a  god  too  long,  and  it's 
turned  your  head.  Don't  you  want  to  get  Home? 
What  about  your  people?  What  about— 

Duncannon  turned  sharply.  His  face  was 
drawn  and  grey. 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  them,"  he  said,  in  a  choked 
voice.  "You  don't  know  what  this  means  to  me. 
You  couldn't  know,  and  I  can't  explain.  But  my 
mind  is  made  up  on  one  point.  Whoever  goes — I 
stay!" 

He  spoke  deliberately,  though  his  breathing  was 
still  quick  and  uneven.  His  eyes  were  sternly 
steadfast. 

Herne  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"My  good  fellow,"  he  said,  "you  are  talking  like 
a  lunatic!  I  think  you  must  have  got  a  touch 
of  sun." 

A  faint  smile  flickered  over  Duncannon's  set  face. 

"No,  it  isn't  that,"  he  said.  "It's  a  touch  of 
something  else — something  you  wouldn't  under 
stand." 

"But — heavens  above! — you  have  no  choice!" 
Herne  exclaimed,  rising  abruptly.  "You  can't 


332  Rosa  Mundi 

say  you'll  do  this  or  that.  So  long  as  you  wear  a 
sword,  you  have  to  obey  orders." 

"That's  soon  remedied,"  said  Duncannon, 
between  his  teeth. 

With  a  sudden,  passionate  movement  he  jerked 
the  weapon  from  its  sheath,  held  it  an  instant 
gleaming  between  his  hands,  then  stooped  and 
bent  it  double  across  his  knee. 

It  snapped  with  a  sharp  click,  and  instantly 
he  straightened  himself,  the  shining  fragments  in 
his  hands,  and  looked  Montague  Herne  in  the 
eyes. 

"When  you  go  back  to  the  Chief,"  he  said, 
speaking  very  steadily,  "you  can  take  him  this, 
and  tell  him  that  the  British  Government  can  play 
what  damned  dirty  trick  they  please  upon  their 
allies.  But  I  will  take  no  part  in  it.  I  shall  stick 
to  my  friends." 

And  with  that  he  flung  the  jingling  pieces  of 
steel  upon  the  table,  took  up  his  helmet,  and  passed 
out  into  the  fierce  glare  of  the  little  parade-ground. 


II 

"On,  is  it  our  turn  at  last?     I  am  glad!" 
Betty  Derwent  raised  eyes  of  absolute  honesty 
to  the  man  who  had  just  come  to  her  side,  and  laid 
her  hand  with  obvious  alacrity  upon  his  arm. 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  enjoying  yourself,"  he 
said. 


The  Penalty  333 

"I'm  not!"  she  declared,  with  vehemence. 
"  It's  perfectly  horrid.  I  hope  you're  not  wanting 
to  dance,  Major  Herne?  For  I  want  to  sit  out, 
and — and  get  cool,  if  possible." 

"I  want  what  you  want,"  said  Herne.  "Shall 
we  go  outside?" 

"  Yes — no !  I  really  don't  know.  I've  only  just 
come  in.  I  want  to  get  away — right  away. 
Can't  you  think  of  a  quiet  corner?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Herne,  "if  it's  all  one  to  you 
where  you  go." 

"I  should  like  to  run  away,"  the  girl  said 
impetuously,  "right  away  from  everybody— 
except  you." 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  said  Herne,  faintly 
smiling. 

The  hand  that  rested  on  his  arm  closed  with  an 
agitated  pressure. 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't!"  she  assured  him.  "It's 
quite  selfish.  I — I  am  like  that,  you  know. 
Where  are  we  going?" 

"Upstairs,"  said  Herne. 

"Upstairs!"  She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise, 
but  he  offered  no  explanation.  They  were  already 
ascending. 

But  when  they  had  mounted  one  flight  of  stairs, 
and  were  beginning  to  mount  a  second,  the  girl's 
eyes  flashed  understanding. 

"Major  Herne,  you're  a  real  friend  in  need!" 

"Think  so?"  said  Herne.  "Perhaps — at  heart 
— I  am  as  selfish  as  you  are." 


334  Rosa  Mundi 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  that,"  she  rejoined 
impulsively.  "You  are  all  selfish,  every  one  of 
you,  but — thank  goodness! — you  don't  all  want 
the  same  thing." 

Montague  Herne  raised  his  brows  a  little. 

"Quite  sure  of  that?" 

"Quite  sure,"  said  Betty  vigorously.  "  I  always 
know."  She  added  with  apparent  inconsequence, 
"That's  how  it  is  we  always  get  on  so  well.  Are 
you  going  to  take  me  right  out  on  to  the  ramparts  ? 
Are  you  sure  there  will  be  no  one  else  there?" 

"There  will  be  no  one  where  we  are  going,"  he 
said. 

She  sighed  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"How  good!  We  shall  get  some  air  up  there, 
too.  And  I  want  air — plenty  of  it.  I  feel 
suffocated." 

"Mind  how  you  go!"  said  Herne.  "These 
stairs  are  uneven." 

They  had  come  to  a  spiral  staircase  of  stone. 
Betty  mounted  it  light-footed,  Herne  following 
close  behind. 

In  the  end  they  came  to  an  oak  door,  against 
which  the  girl  set  her  hand. 

"Major  Herne!     It's  locked!" 

"Allow  me!"  said  Herne. 

He  had  produced  a  large  key,  at  which  Betty 
looked  with  keen  satisfaction. 

"You  really  are  a  wonderful  person.  You 
overcome  all  difficulties." 

"Not  quite   that,   I   am   afraid."     Herne  was 


The  Penalty  335 

smiling.  "  But  this  is  a  comparatively  simple  mat 
ter.  The  key  happens  to  be  in  my  charge.  With 
your  permission,  we  will  lock  the  door  behind  us." 

"  Do ! "  she  said  eagerly.  "  I  have  never  been  at 
this  end  of  the  ramparts.  I  believe  I  shall  spend 
the  rest  of  the  evening  here,  where  no  one  can 
follow  us." 

"Haven't  you  any  more  partners?"  asked 
Herne. 

She  showed  him  a  full  card  with  a  little  grimace. 

"I  have  had  such  an  awful  experience.  I  am 
going  to  cut  the  rest." 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"Rather  hard  on  the  rest.     However— 

"Oh,  don't  be  silly!"  she  said  impatiently.  "It 
isn't  like  you." 

"No,"  said  Herne. 

He  spoke  quietly,  almost  as  if  he  were  thinking 
of  something  else.  They  had  passed  through  the 
stone  doorway,  and  had  emerged  upon  a  flagged 
passage  that  led  between  stone  walls  to  the  ram 
parts.  Betty  passed  along  this  quickly,  mounted 
the  last  flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  battlements, 
and  stood  suddenly  still. 

A  marvellous  scene  lay  spread  below  them  in  the 
moonlight — silent  land  and  whispering  sea.  The 
music  of  the  band  in  the  distant  ballroom  rose 
fitfully — such  music  as  is  heard  in  dreams.  Betty 
stood  quite  motionless  with  the  moonlight  shining 
on  her  face.  She  looked  like  a  nymph  caught  up 
from  the  shimmering  water. 


336  Rosa  Mundi 

Impulsively  at  length  she  turned  to  the  man 
beside  her. 

' '  Shall  I  tell  you  what  has  been  happening  to  me 
to-night?" 

"If  you  really  wish  me  to  know,"  said  Herne. 

She  jerked  her  shoulder  with  a  hint  of  impatience. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  must  tell  someone,  and  you  are  as 
safe  as  any  one  I  know.  I  have  danced  with  six 
men  so  far,  and  out  of  those  six  three  have  asked 
me  to  marry  them.  It's  been  almost  like  a  con 
spiracy,  as  if  they  were  doing  it  for  a  wager.  Only, 
two  of  them  were  so  horribly  in  earnest  that  it 
couldn't  have  been  that.  Major  Herne,  why  can't 
people  be  reasonable?" 

"Heaven  knows!"  said  Herne. 

She  gave  him  a  quick  smile. 

"If  I  get  another  proposal  to-night  I  shall 
have  hysterics.  But  I  know  I  am  safe  with  you." 

Herne  was  silent. 

Betty  gave  a  little  shiver. 

4 '  You  think  me  very  horrid  to  have  told  you  ?  " 

"No,"  he  answered  deliberately,  "I  don't.  I 
think  that  you  were  extraordinarily  wise." 

She  laughed  with  a  touch  of  wistfulness. 

"I  have  a  feeling  that  if  I  quite  understood  what 
you  meant,  I  shouldn't  regard  that  as  a  compli 
ment." 

"Very  likely  not."  Herne's  dark  face  brooded 
over  the  distant  water.  He  did  not  so  much  as 
glance  at  the  girl  beside  him,  though  her  eyes  were 
studying  him  quite  frankly. 


The  Penalty  337 

"Why  are  you  so  painfully  discreet?"  she  said 
suddenly.  "Don't  you  know  that  I  want  you  to 
give  me  advice?" 

"Which  you  won't  take,"  said  Herne. 

"I  don't  know.  I  might.  I  quite  well  might. 
Anyhow,  I  should  be  grateful." 

He  rested  one  foot  on  the  battlement,  still  not 
looking  at  her. 

"If  you  took  my  advice,"  he  said,  "you  would 
marry." 

' ' Marry ! "  she  said  with  a  quick  flush.  "Why ? 
Why  should  I?" 

"You  know  why,"  said  Herne. 

"Really  I  don't.     I  am  quite  happy  as  I  am." 

"Quite?  "he  said. 

She  began  to  tap  her  fingers  against  the  stone 
work.  There  was  something  of  nervousness  in  the 
action. 

"I  couldn't  possibly  marry  any  one  of  the  men 
who  proposed  to  me  to-night,"  she  said. 

"There  are  other  men,"  said  Herne. 

"Yes,  I  know,  but — "  She  threw  out  her  arms 
suddenly  with  a  gesture  that  had  in  it  something 
passionate.  "Oh,  if  only  I  were  a  man  myself!" 
she  said.  "How  I  wish  I  were!" 

"Why?  "said  Herne. 

She  answered  him  instantly,  her  voice  not  wholly 
steady. 

"I  want  to  travel.  I  want  to  explore.  I  want 
to  go  to  the  very  heart  of  the  world,  and — and 
learn  its  secrets." 


338  Rosa  Mundi 

Herne  turned  his  head  very  deliberately  and 
looked  at  her. 

"And  then?"  he  said. 

Half  defiantly  her  eyes  met  his. 

"I  would  find  Bobby  Duncannon,"  she  said, 
"and  bring  him  back." 

Herne  stood  up  slowly. 

"I  thought  that  was  it,"  he  said. 

"And  why  shouldn't  it  be?"  said  Betty.  "I 
have  known  him  for  a  long  time  now.  Wouldn't 
you  do  as  much  for  a  pal?" 

Herne  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then : 

"You  would  be  wiser  to  forget  him,"  he  said. 
"He  will  never  come  back." 

"I  shall  never  forget  him,"  said  Betty  almost 
fiercely. 

He  looked  at  her  gravely. 

"You  mean  to  waste  the  rest  of  your  life  waiting 
for  him?"  he  asked. 

Her  hands  gripped  each  other  suddenly. 

"You  call  it  waste?"  she  said. 

"It  is  waste,"  he  made  answer,  "sheer,  damn 
able  waste.  The  boy  was  mad  enough  to  sacrifice 
his  own  career — everything  that  he  had — but  it  is 
downright  infernal  that  you  should  be  sacrificed 
too.  Why  should  you  pay  the  penalty  for  his 
madness?  He  was  probably  killed  long  ago,  and 
even  if  not — even  if  he  lived  and  came  back — you 
would  probably  ask  yourself  if  you  had  ever  met 
him  before." 

"Oh,  no!"  Betty  said.     "No!" 


The  Penalty  339 

She  turned  and  looked  out  to  the  water  that 
gleamed  so  peacefully  in  the  moonlight. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  her  voice  very  low, 
scarcely  more  than  a  whisper,  "he  asked  me  to 
marry  him — five  years  ago — just  before  he  went. 
It  was  my  first  proposal.  I  was  very  young,  not 
eighteen.  And — and  it  frightened  me.  I  really 
don't  know  why.  And  so  I  refused.  He  said  he 
would  ask  me  again  when  I  was  older,  when  I  had 
come  out.  I  remember  being  rather  relieved  when 
he  went  away.  It  wasn't  till  afterwards,  when  I 
came  to  see  the  world  and  people,  that  I  realized 
that  he  was  more  to  me  than  any  one  else.  He — he 
was  wonderfully  fascinating,  don't  you  think? 
So  strong,  so  eager,  so  full  of  life!  I  have  never 
seen  any  one  quite  like  him."  She  leaned  her  hands 
suddenly  against  a  projecting  stone  buttress  and 
bowed  her  head  upon  them.  "And  I — refused 
him!"  she  said. 

The  low  voice  went  out  in  a  faint  sob,  and  the 
man's  hands  clenched.  The  next  instant  he  had 
crossed  the  space  that  divided  him  from  the  slender 
figure  in  its  white  draperies  that  drooped  against 
the  wall. 

He  bent  down  to  her. 

"Betty,  Betty,"  he  said,  "you're  crying  for  the 
moon ,  child .  Don ' t ! " 

She  turned,  and  with  a  slight,  confiding  move 
ment  slid  out  a  trembling  hand. 

"I  have  never  told  anyone  but  you,"  she  said. 

He  clasped  the  quivering  fingers  very  closely. 


340  Rosa  Mundi 

"I  would  sell  my  soul  to  see  you  happy,"  he  said. 
"But,  my  dear  Betty,  happiness  doesn't  lie  in 
that  direction.  You  are  sacrificing  substance  to 
shadow.  Won't  you  see  it  before  it's  too  late, 
before  the  lean  years  come?"  He  paused  a  mo 
ment,  seeming  to  restrain  himself.  Then,  "I've 
never  told  you  before,"  he  said,  his  voice  very  low, 
deeply  tender.  "I  hardly  dare  to  tell  you  now, 
lest  you  should  think  I'm  trading  on  your  friend 
ship,  but  I,  too,  am  one  of  those  unlucky  beggars 
that  want  to  marry  you.  You  needn't  trouble  to 
refuse  me,  dear.  I'll  take  it  all  for  granted.  Only, 
when  the  lean  years  do  come  to  you,  as  they  will,  as 
they  must,  will  you  remember  that  I'm  still  want 
ing  you,  and  give  me  the  chance  of  making  you 
happy?" 

"Oh,  don't!"  sobbed  Betty.  "Don't!  You 
hurt  me  so!" 

"Hurt  you,  Betty!     I!" 

She  turned  impulsively  and  leaned  her  head 
against  him. 

' '  Major  Herne,  you — you  are  awfully  good  to  me, 
do  you  know?  I  shall  never  forget  it.  And  if — if 
I  were  not  quite  sure  in  my  heart  that  Bobby  is 
still  alive  and  wanting  me,  I  would  come  to  you, 
if  you  really  cared  to  have  me.  But — but 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Betty? "  he  said.  His  arm 
was  round  her,  but  he  did  not  seek  to  draw  her 
nearer,  did  not  so  much  as  try  to  see  her  face. 

But  she  showed  it  to  him  instantly,  lifting  clear 
eyes,  in  which  the  tears  still  shone,  to  his. 


The  Penalty  341 

"Oh,  yes,  I  mean  it.  But,  Major  Herne, 
but " 

He  met  her  look,  faintly  smiling. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "It's  a  pretty  big  'but,'  I  know, 
but  I'm  going  to  tackle  it.  I'm  going  to  find  out 
if  the  boy  is  alive  or  dead.  If  he  lives,  you  shall 
see  him  again ;  if  he  is  dead — and  this  is  the  more 
probable,  for  it  is  no  country  for  white  men — I 
shall  claim  you  for  myself,  Betty.  You  won't 
refuse  me  then?" 

"Only  find  out  for  certain,"  she  said. 

"I  will  do  that,"  he  promised. 

"But  how?  How?  You  won't  go  there  your 
self?" 

"Why  not?  "he  said. 

Something  like  panic  showed  in  the  girl's  eyes. 
She  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"Monty,  I  don't  want  you  to  go." 

' '  You  would  rather  I  stayed  ? "  he  said.  He  was 
looking  closely  into  her  eyes. 

She  endured  the  look  for  a  little,  then  suddenly 
the  tears  welled  up  again. 

"I  can't  bear  you  to  go,"  she  whispered.  "I 
mean — I  mean — I  couldn't  bear  it  if — if ' 

He  took  her  hands  gently,  and  held  them. 

' '  I  shall  come  back  to  you,  Betty, ' '  he  said. 

"Oh,  you  will!"  she  said  very  earnestly.  "You 
will!" 

"I  shall,"  said  Montague  Herne;  and  he  said  it 
as  a  man  whose  resolution  no  power  on  earth  might 
turn. 


S42  Rosa  Mundi 

in 

No  country  for  white  men  indeed!  Herne 
grimly  puffed  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  a  whirl  of 
flies,  and  rose  from  the  packing-case  off  which  he 
had  dined. 

Near  by  were  the  multitudinous  sounds  of  the 
camp,  the  voices  of  Arabs,  the  grunting  of  camels, 
the  occasional  squeal  of  a  mule.  Beyond  lay  the 
wilderness,  mysterious,  silent,  immense,  the  home 
of  the  unknown. 

He  had  reached  the  outermost  edge  of  civili 
zation,  and  he  was  waiting  for  the  return  of  an 
Arab  spy,  a  man  he  trusted,  who  had  pushed  on 
into  the  interior.  The  country  beyond  him  was  a 
dense  tract  of  bush  almost  impenetrable;  so  far  as 
he  knew,  waterless. 

In  the  days  of  the  British  expedition  this  had 
been  an  almost  insuperable  obstacle,  but  Herne 
was  in  no  mood  to  turn  back.  Behind  him  lay 
desert,  wide  and  barren  under  the  fierce  African 
sun.  He  had  traversed  it  with  a  dogged  patience, 
regardless  of  hardship,  and,  whatever  lay  ahead  of 
him,  he  meant  to  go  on.  Hidden  deep  below  the 
man's  calm  aspect  there  throbbed  a  fierce  impa 
tience.  It  tortured  him  by  night,  depriving  him 
of  rest. 

Very  curiously,  the  conviction  had  begun  to 
take  root  in  his  soul  also  that  Bobby  Duncannon 
still  lived.  In  England  he  had  scouted  the  notion, 
but  here  in  the  heart  of  the  desert  everything 


The  Penalty  343 

seemed  possible.  He  felt  as  if  a  voice  were  calling 
to  him  out  of  the  mystery  towards  which  he  had  set 
his  face,  a  voice  that  was  never  silent,  continually 
urging  him  on. 

Wandering  that  night  on  the  edge  of  the  bush, 
with  the  camp-fires  behind  him,  he  told  himself 
that  until  he  knew  the  truth  he  would  never  turn 
back. 

He  lay  down  at  last,  though  his  restlessness  was 
strong  upon  him,  compelling  his  body  at  least  to  be 
passive,  while  hour  after  hour  crawled  by  and  the 
wondrous  procession  of  stars  wheeled  overhead. 

In  the  early  morning  there  came  a  stir  in  the 
camp,  and  he  rose,  to  find  that  his  messenger  had 
returned.  The  man  was  waiting  for  him  outside 
his  tent.  The  orange  and  gold  of  sunrise  was  turn 
ing  the  desert  into  a  wonderland  of  marvellous 
colour,  but  Herne's  eyes  took  no  note  thereof.  He 
saw  only  his  Arab  guide  bending  before  him  in 
humble  salutation,  while  in  his  heart  he  heard  a 
girl's  voice,  low  and  piteous,  "Bobby  is  still  alive 
and  wanting  me." 

"Well,  Hassan?"  he  questioned.     "Any  news?" 

The  man's  eyes  gleamed  with  a  certain  triumph. 

"There  is  news,  effendi.  The  man  the  effendi 
seeks  is  no  longer  chief  of  the  Zambas.  They  have 
been  swallowed  up  by  the  Wandis." 

Herne  groaned.  It  was  only  what  he  had  ex 
pected,  but  the  memory  of  the  boy's  face  with  its 
eager  eyes  was  upon  him.  The  pity  of  it!  The 
vast,  irretrievable  waste ! 


344  Rosa  Mundi 

"Then  he  is  dead?"  he  said. 

The  Arab  spread  out  his  hands. 

"Allah  knows.  But  the  Wandis  do  not  always 
slay  their  prisoners,  effendi.  The  old  and  the 
useless  ones  they  burn,  but  the  strong  ones  they 
save  alive.  It  may  be  that  he  lives." 

"As  a  slave!"  Herne  said. 

"  It  is  possible,  effendi. ' '  The  Arab  considered  a 
moment.  Then,  "The  road  to  the  country  of  the 
Wandis  is  no  journey  for  effendis, ' '  he  said.  ' '  The 
path  is  hard  to  find,  and  there  is  no  water.  Also, 
the  bush  is  thick,  and  there  are  many  savages. 
But  beyond  all  are  the  mountains  where  the 
Wandis  dwell.  It  is  possible  that  the  chief  of  the 
Zambas  has  been  carried  to  their  City  of  Stones. 
It  is  a  wonderful  place,  effendi.  But  the  way 
thither,  especially  now,  even  for  an  Arab — 

"I  am  going  myself,"  Herne  said. 

" The  effendi  will  die!" 

Herne  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Be  it  so!     I  am  going!" 

"But  not  alone,  effendi.'1  A  speculative  gleam 
shone  in  the  Arab's  wary  eyes.  He  was  the  only 
available  guide,  and  he  knew  it.  The  Englishman 
was  mad,  of  course,  but  he  was  willing  to  humour 
him — for  a  consideration. 

Herne  saw  the  gleam,  and  his  grim  face  relaxed. 

"Name  your  price,  Hassan!"  he  said.  "If  it 
doesn't  suit  me — I  go  alone." 

Hassan  smiled  widely.  Certainly  the  English 
man  was  mad,  but  he  had  a  sporting  fancy  for  mad 


The  Penalty  345 

Englishmen,  a  fancy  that  kept  his  pouch  well  filled. 
He  had  not  the  smallest  intention  of  letting  this 
one  out  of  his  sight. 

"We  will  go  together,  effendi"  he  said.  "The 
price  shall  not  be  named  between  us  until  we 
return  in  peace.  But  the  effendi  will  need  a 
disguise.  The  Wandis  have  no  love  for  the 
English." 

"Then  I  will  go  as  your  brother,"  said  Herne. 

The  Arab  bowed  low. 

"As  traders  in  spice,"  he  said,  "we  might,  by 
the  goodness  of  Allah,  pass  through  to  the  Great 
Desert.  But  we  could  not  go  with  a  large  cara 
van,  effendi,  and  we  should  take  our  lives  in  our 
hands." 

"Even  so,"  said  the  Englishman  imperturbably. 
"Let  us  waste  no  time!" 

It  had  been  his  attitude  throughout,  and  it  had 
had  its  effect  upon  the  men  who  had  travelled  with 
him.  They  had  come  to  look  upon  him  with 
reverence,  this  mad  Englishman,  who  was  thus 
calmly  preparing  to  risk  his  life  for  a  man  whose 
bones  had  probably  whitened  in  the  desert  years 
before.  By  sheer,  indomitable  strength  of  pur 
pose  Herne  was  accomplishing  inch  by  inch  the 
task  that  he  had  set  himself. 

A  few  days  more  found  him  traversing  the  wide, 
scrub-grown  plateau  that  stretched  to  the  moun 
tains  where  the  Wandis  had  their  dwelling-place. 
The  journey  was  a  bitter  one,  the  heat  intense,  the 
difficulties  of  the  way  sometimes  wellnigh  insur- 


346  Rosa  Mundi 

mountable.  They  carried  water  with  them,  but 
the  need  for  economy  was  great,  and  Herne  was 
continually  possessed  by  a  consuming  thirst  that 
he  never  dared  to  satisfy. 

The  party  consisted  of  himself,  Hassan,  an  Arab 
lad,  and  five  natives.  The  rest  of  his  following  he 
had  left  on  the  edge  of  civilization,  encamped  in 
the  last  oasis  between  the  desert  and  the  scrub, 
with  orders  to  await  his  return.  If,  as  the  Arab 
had  suggested,  he  succeeded  in  pushing  through 
to  the  farther  desert,  he  would  return  by  a  more 
southerly  route,  giving  Wanda  as  wide  a  berth  as 
possible. 

Thus  ran  his  plans  as,  day  after  day,  he  pressed 
farther  into  the  heart  of  the  unknown  country 
that  the  British  had  abandoned  in  despair  over 
three  years  before.  They  found  it  deserted,  in 
some  parts  almost  impenetrable,  so  dense  was  the 
growth  of  bush  in  all  directions.  And  yet  there 
were  times  when  it  seemed  to  Herne  that  the  sense 
of  emptiness  was  but  a  superficial  impression,  as 
if  unseen  eyes  watched  them  on  that  journey  of 
endless  monotony,  as  if  the  very  camels  knew  of 
a  lurking  espionage,  and  sneered  at  their  riders' 
ignorance. 

This  feeling  came  to  him  generally  at  night, 
when  he  had  partially  assuaged  the  torment  of 
thirst  that  gave  him  no  peace  by  day,  and  his 
mind  was  more  at  leisure  for  speculation.  At 
such  times,  lying  apart  from  his  companions, 
wrapt  in  the  immense  silence  of  the  African  night, 


The  Penalty  347 

the  conviction  would  rise  up  within  him  that 
every  inch  of  their  progress  through  that  land 
of  mystery  was  marked  by  a  close  observation, 
that  even  as  he  lay  he  was  under  surveillance,  that 
the  dense  obscurity  of  the  bush  all  about  him  was 
peopled  by  stealthy  watchers  whose  vigilance  was 
never  relaxed. 

He  mentioned  his  suspicion  once  to  Hassan ;  but 
the  Arab  only  smiled. 

"The  desert  never  sleeps,  effendi.  The  very 
grass  of  the  savannah  has  ears." 

It  was  not  a  very  satisfactory  explanation,  but 
Herne  accepted  it.  He  put  down  his  uneasiness 
to  the  restlessness  of  nerves  that  were  ever  on  the 
alert,  and  determined  to  ignore  it.  But  it  pursued 
him,  none  the  less;  and  coupled  with  it  was  the 
voice  that  called  to  him  perpetually,  like  the  crying 
of  a  lost  soul. 

They  were  drawing  nearer  to  the  mountains 
when  one  day  the  Arab  lad,  Ahmed,  disappeared. 
It  happened  during  the  midday  halt,  when  the 
rest  of  the  party  were  drowsing.  No  one  knew 
when  he  went  or  how,  but  he  vanished  as  if  a  hand 
had  plucked  him  off  the  face  of  the  earth.  It 
seemed  unlikely  that  he  would  have  wandered 
into  the  bush,  but  this  was  the  only  conclusion 
that  they  could  come  to;  and  they  spent  the  rest 
of  the  day  in  fruitless  searching. 

Herne  slept  not  at  all  that  night.  The  place 
seemed  to  be  alive  with  ghostly  whisperings,  and 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  rest.  He  spent  the 


348  Rosa  Mundi 

long  hours  revolver  in  hand,  waiting  with  a  dogged 
patience  for  the  dawn. 

But  when  it  came  at  last,  in  a  sudden  tropical 
stream  of  light  illuminating  all  things,  he  knew 
that,  his  vigilance  notwithstanding,  he  had  been 
tricked.  The  morning  dawned  upon  a  deserted 
camp.  The  natives  had  fled  in  the  night,  and  only 
Hassan  and  the  camels  remained. 

Hassan  was  largely  contemptuous. 

"Let  them  go!"  he  said.  "We  are  but  a  day's 
journey  from  Wanda.  We  will  go  forward  alone, 
effendi.  The  chief  of  the  Wandis  will  not  slay  two 
peaceful  merchants  who  desire  only  to  travel 
through  to  the  Great  Desert." 

And  so,  with  the  camels  strung  together,  they 
went  forward.  There  was  no  attempt  at  conceal 
ment  in  their  progress.  The  path  they  travelled 
was  clearly  defined,  and  they  pursued  it  un 
molested.  But  ever  the  conviction  followed  Herne 
that  countless  eyes  were  upon  them,  that  through 
the  depths  of  the  bush  naked  bodies  slipped  like 
reptiles,  hemming  them  in  on  every  side. 

They  had  travelled  a  couple  of  hours,  and  the 
sun  was  climbing  unpleasantly  high,  when,  round 
ing  a  curve  of  the  path,  they  came  suddenly  upon  a 
huddled  figure.  It  looked  at  first  sight  no  more 
than  a  bundle  of  clothes  kicked  to  one  side,  too  limp 
and  tattered  to  contain  a  human  form.  But  neither 
Herne  nor  his  companion  was  deceived.  Both  knew 
in  a  flash  what  that  inanimate  object  was. 

Hassan  was  beside  it  in  a  moment,  and  Herne 


The  Penalty  349 

only  waited  to  draw  his  revolver  before  he 
followed. 

It  was  the  boy,  Ahmed,  still  breathing  indeed, 
but  so  far  gone  that  every  gasp  seemed  as  if  it 
must  be  his  last.  Hassan  drew  back  the  covering 
from  his  face,  and,  in  spite  of  himself,  Herne 
shuddered ;  for  it  was  mutilated  beyond  recognition . 
The  features  were  slashed  to  ribbons. 

' '  Water,  effendi! ' '  Hassan's  voice  recalled  him ; 
and  he  turned  aside  to  procure  it. 

It  was  little  more  than  a  tepid  drain,  but  it 
acted  like  magic  upon  the  dying  boy.  There  came 
a  gasping  whisper,  and  Hassan  stooped  to  hear. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  stood  up,  Herne 
knew  that  the  end  had  come;  knew,  too,  by  the 
look  in  the  Arab's  eyes  that  they  stood  themselves 
on  the  brink  of  that  great  gulf  into  which  the  boy's 
life  had  but  that  instant  slipped. 

"The  Wandis  have  returned  from  a  great 
slaughter,"  Hassan  said.  "Their  Prophet  is  with 
them,  and  they  bring  many  captives.  The  lad 
wandered  into  the  bush,  and  was  caught  by  a  band 
of  spies.  They  tortured  him,  and  let  him  go, 
effendi.  Thus  will  they  torture  us  if  we  go  forward 
any  longer."  He  caught  at  the  bridle  of  the 
nearest  camel.  "The  lust  of  blood  is  upon  them," 
he  said.  "We  will  go  back." 

"Not  so,"  Herne  said.  "If  we  go  back  we  die, 
for  the  water  is  almost  gone.  We  must  press  for 
ward  now.  There  will  be  water  in  the  mountains." 

Hassan  glanced  at  him  sideways.     He  looked  as 


350  Rosa  Mundi 

if  he  were  minded  to  defy  the  mad  Englishman, 
but  Herne's  revolver  was  yet  in  his  hand,  and  he 
thought  better  of  it.  Moreover,  he  knew,  as  did 
Herne,  that  their  water  supply  was  not  sufficient  to 
take  them  back.  So,  without  further  discussion, 
they  pressed  on  until  the  heat  compelled  them  to 
halt. 

It  had  seemed  to  Herne  the  previous  night  that 
he  could  never  close  his  eyes  again,  but  now  as  he 
descended  from  his  camel,  an  intense  drowsiness 
possessed  him.  For  a  while  he  strove  against  it, 
and  managed  to  keep  it  at  bay;  but  the  sight  of 
Hassan,  curled  up  and  calmly  slumbering,  soon 
served  to  bring  home  to  him  the  futility  of  watch 
fulness.  The  Arab  was  obviously  resigned  to  his 
particular  fate,  whatever  that  might  be,  and,  since 
sleep  had  become  a  necessity  to  him,  it  seemed  use 
less  to  combat  it.  What,  after  all,  could  vigilance 
do  for  him  in  that  world  of  hostility?  The  odds 
were  so  strongly  against  him  that  it  had  become 
almost  a  fight  against  the  inevitable.  And  he  was 
too  tired  to  keep  it  up.  With  a  sigh,  he  suffered 
his  limbs  to  relax  and  lay  as  one  dead. 


IV 


HE  awoke  hours  after  with  an  inarticulate 
feeling  that  someone  wanted  him,  and  started  up 
to  the  sound  of  a  rifle  shot  that  pierced  the  stillness 
like  a  crack  of  thunder.  In  a  second  he  would 


The  Penalty  351 

have  been  upon  his  feet,  but,  even  as  he  sprang, 
something  else  that  was  very  close  at  hand  sprang 
also,  and  hurled  him  backwards.  He  found  him 
self  fighting  desperately  in  the  grip  of  an  immense 
savage,  fighting  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage,  with 
the  man's  knees  crushing  the  breath  out  of  his 
body,  and  the  man's  hands  locked  upon  his  throat. 

He  struggled  fiercely  for  bare  life,  but  he  was 
powerless  to  loosen  that  awful,  merciless  pressure. 
The  barbaric  face  that  glared  into  his  own  wore  a 
devilish  grin,  inexpressibly  malignant.  It  danced 
before  his  starting  eyes  like  some  hideous  spectre 
seen  in  delirium,  intermittent,  terrible,  with  blind 
ing  flashes  of  light  breaking  between.  He  felt  as 
if  his  head  were  bursting.  The  agony  of  suffo 
cation  possessed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 
There  came  a  sudden  glaze  in  his  brain  that  was 
like  the  shattering  of  every  faculty,  and  then,  in  a 
blood-red  mist,  his  understanding  passed. 

It  seemed  to  him  when  the  light  reeled  back 
again  that  he  had  been  unconscious  for  a  very  long 
time.  He  awoke  to  excruciating  pain,  of  which  he 
seemed  to  have  been  vaguely  aware  throughout, 
and  found  himself  bound  hand  and  foot  and  slung 
across  the  back  of  a  camel.  He  dangled  help 
lessly  face  downwards,  racked  by  cramp  and  a 
fiery  torment  of  thirst  more  intolerable  than  any 
thing  he  had  ever  known. 

Darkness  had  fallen,  but  he  caught  the  gleam 
of  torches,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  considerable  body  of  men.  The  ground  they 


352  Rosa  Mundi 

travelled  was  stony  and  ascended  somewhat 
steeply.  Herne  swung  about  like  a  bale  of  goods, 
torn  by  his  bonds,  flung  this  way  and  that,  and 
utterly  unable  to  protect  himself  in  any  way,  or  to 
ease  his  position. 

He  set  his  teeth  to  endure  the  torture,  but  it  was 
so  intense  that  he  presently  fainted  again,  and 
only  recovered  consciousness  when  the  agonizing 
progress  ceased.  He  opened  his  eyes,  to  find  the 
camel  that  had  borne  him  kneeling,  and  he  himself 
being  bundled  by  two  brawny  savages  on  to  the 
ground.  He  fell  like  a  log,  and  so  was  left.  But, 
bound  though  he  was,  the  relief  of  lying  motionless 
was  such  that  he  presently  recovered  so  far  as  to 
be  able  to  look  about  him. 

He  discovered  that  he  was  lying  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  huge  amphitheatre  of  sand,  sur 
rounded  by  high  cliffs,  ragged  and  barren,  and 
strewn  with  boulders.  Two  great  fires  burned  at 
several  yards'  distance,  and  about  these,  a  number 
of  savages  were  congregated.  From  somewhere  be 
hind  came  the  trickle  of  water,  and  the  sound  goaded 
him  to  something  that  was  very  nearly  approach 
ing  madness.  He  dragged  himself  up  on  to  his 
knees.  His  thirst  was  suddenly  unendurable. 

But  the  next  instant  he  was  flat  on  his  face  in 
the  sand,  struck  down  by  a  blow  on  the  back  of 
the  neck  that  momentarily  stunned  him.  For  a 
while  he  lay  prone,  gritting  the  sand  in  his  teeth; 
then  again  with  the  strength  of  frenzy  he  struggled 
upwards. 


The  Penalty  353 

He  had  a  glimpse  of  his  guard  standing  over 
him,  and  recognized  the  savage  who  had  nearly 
strangled  him,  before  a  second  crashing  blow 
brought  him  down.  He  lay  still  then,  over 
whelmed  in  darkness  for  a  long,  long  time. 

He  scarcely  knew  when  he  was  lifted  at  last  and 
borne  forward  into  the  great  circle  of  light  cast  by 
one  of  the  fires.  He  felt  the  glare  upon  his  eye 
balls,  but  it  conveyed  nothing  to  him.  Over  by 
the  farther  fire  some  festivity  seemed  to  be  in 
progress.  He  had  a  vague  vision  of  leaping, 
naked  bodies,  and  the  flash  of  knives.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  shouting  also,  and  now  and  then  a 
nightmare  shriek.  And  then  came  the  torment  of 
the  fire,  great  heat  enveloping  him,  thirst  that  was 
anguish. 

He  turned  upon  his  captors,  but  his  mouth  was 
too  dry  for  speech.  He  could  only  glare  dumbly 
into  their  evil  faces,  and  they  glared  back  at  him 
in  fiendish  triumph.  Nearer  to  the  red  glow  they 
came,  nearer  yet.  He  could  hear  the  crackle  of 
the  licking  flames.  They  danced  giddily  before 
his  eyes. 

Suddenly  the  arms  that  bore  him  swung  back. 
He  knew  instinctively  that  they  were  preparing  to 
hurl  him  into  the  heart  of  the  fire,  and  the  instinct 
of  self-preservation  rushed  upon  him,  stabbing 
him  to  vivid  consciousness.  With  a  gigantic 
effort  he  writhed  himself  free  from  their  hold. 

He  fell  headlong,  but  the  strength  of  madness 

had  entered  into  him.     He  fought  like  a  man 
23 


354  Rosa  Mundi 

possessed,  straining  at  his  bonds  till  they  cracked 
and  burst,  forcing  from  his  parched  throat  sounds 
which  in  saner  moments  he  would  not  have  recog 
nized  as  human,  struggling,  tearing,  raging,  in 
furious  self-defence. 

He  was  hopelessly  outmatched.  The  odds  were 
such  as  no  man  in  his  senses  could  have  hoped 
to  combat  with  anything  approaching  success. 
Almost  before  his  bonds  began  to  loosen,  his 
enemies  were  upon  him  again.  They  hoisted 
him  up,  fighting  like  a  maniac.  They  tightened 
his  bonds  unconcernedly,  and  prepared  for  a 
second  attempt. 

But,  before  it  could  be  made,  a  fierce  yell  rang 
suddenly  from  the  cliffs  above  them,  echoing 
weirdly  through  the  savage  pandemonium,  arrest 
ing,  authoritative,  piercingly  insistent. 

What  it  portended  Herne  had  not  the  vaguest 
notion,  but  its  effect  upon  the  two  Wandis  who 
held  him  was  instant  and  astounding.  They 
dropped  him  like  a  stone,  and  fled  as  if  pursued 
by  furies. 

As  for  Herne,  he  wriggled  and  writhed  from  the 
vicinity  of  the  fire,  still  working  at  his  bonds,  his 
one  idea  to  reach  the  water  that  he  knew  was 
running  within  a  stone's  throw  of  him.  It  was  an 
agonizing  progress,  but  he  felt  no  pain  but  that 
awful,  consuming  thirst,  knew  no  fear  but  a 
ghastly  dread  that  he  might  fail  to  reach  his  goal. 
For  a  single  mouthful  of  water  at  that  moment 
he  would  have  bartered  his  very  soul. 


The  Penalty  355 

His  breathing  came  in  great  gasps.  The  sweat 
was  running  down  his  face.  His  heart  beat 
thickly,  spasmodically.  His  senses  were  totter 
ing.  But  he  clung  tenaciously  to  the  one  idea. 
He  could  not  die  with  his  thirst  unquenched.  If  he 
crawled  every  inch  of  the  way  upon  his  stomach, 
he  would  somehow  reach  the  haven  of  his  desire. 

There  came  the  padding  of  feet  upon  the  sand 
close  to  him,  and  he  cursed  aloud  and  bitterly.  It 
was  death  this  time,  of  course.  He  shut  his  eyes 
and  lay  motionless,  waiting  for  it.  He  only  hoped 
that  it  might  be  swift ;  that  the  hellish  torture  he 
was  suffering  might  be  ended  at  a  blow. 

But  no  blow  fell.  Hands  touched  him,  severed 
his  bonds,  dragged  him  roughly  up.  Then,  as  he 
staggered,  powerless  for  the  moment  to  stand,  an 
arm,  hard  and  fleshless  as  the  arm  of  a  skeleton, 
caught  him  and  urged  him  forward.  Irresistibly 
impelled,  he  left  the  glare  of  the  fire,  and  stumbled 
into  deep  shadow. 

Ten  seconds  later  he  was  on  his  knees  by  a 
natural  basin  of  rock  in  which  clear  water 
brimmed,  plunged  up  to  the  elbows,  and  drinking 
as  only  a  man  who  has  known  the  thirst  of  the 
desert  can  drink. 


V 


HE  turned  at  last  from  that  exquisite  draught 
with  the  water  running  down  his  face.  His  Arab 
dress  hung  about  him  in  tatters.  He  was  bruised 


356  Rosa  Mundi 

and  bleeding  in  a  dozen  places.  But  the  man's 
heart  of  him  was  alive  again  and  beating  strongly. 
He  was  ready  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  he  might. 

He  looked  round  for  the  native  who  had  brought 
him  thither,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was 
alone,  shut  away  by  a  frowning  pile  of  rock  from 
the  great  amphitheatre  in  which  the  Wandis  were 
celebrating  their  return  from  the  slaughter  of 
their  enemies.  The  shouting  and  the  shrieking 
continued  in  ghastly  tumult,  but  for  the  moment 
he  seemed  to  be  safe. 

The  moon  was  up,  but  the  shadows  were  very 
deep.  He  seemed  to  be  standing  in  a  hollow,  with 
sheer  rock  on  three  sides  of  him.  The  water 
gurgled  away  down  a  narrow  channel,  and  fell  into 
darkness.  With  infinite  caution  he  crept  forward 
to  peer  round  the  jutting  boulder  that  divided 
him  from  his  enemies. 

The  next  instant  sharply  he  drew  back.  A  man 
armed  with  a  long,  native  spear  was  standing  in 
the  entrance. 

He  was  still  a  prisoner,  then;  that  much  was 
certain.  But  his  guard  was  single-handed.  He 
began  to  consider  the  possibility  of  overpowering 
him.  He  had  no  weapon,  but  he  was  a  practised 
wrestler;  and  they  were  so  far  removed  from  the 
yelling  crowd  about  the  fire  that  a  scuffle  in  that 
dark  corner  was  little  likely  to  attract  attention. 

It  was  fairly  obvious  to  him  why  he  had  been 
rescued  from  the  fire.  Doubtless  his  gigantic 
struggles  had  been  observed  by  the  onlooker,  and 


The  Penalty  357 

he  was  considered  too  good  a  man  to  burn.  They 
would  keep  him  for  a  slave,  possibly  mutilate  him 
first. 

Again,  stealthily,  he  investigated  the  position 
round  that  corner  of  rock.  The  man's  back  was 
turned  towards  him.  He  seemed  to  be  watching 
the  doings  of  the  distant  tribesmen.  Herne  freed 
himself  from  his  ragged  garment,  and  crept  nearer. 
His  enemy  was  of  no  great  stature.  In  fact,  he 
was  the  smallest  Wandi  that  he  had  yet  seen.  He 
questioned  with  himself  if  he  could  be  full  grown. 

Now  or  never  was  his  chance,  though  a  slender 
one  at  that,  even  if  he  escaped  immediate  detection. 
He  gathered  himself  together,  and  sprang  upon  his 
unsuspecting  foe. 

He  aimed  at  the  native  weapon,  knowing  the 
dexterity  with  which  this  could  be  shortened  and 
brought  into  action,  but  it  was  wrenched  from  him 
before  he  could  securely  grasp  it. 

The  man  wriggled  round  like  an  eel,  and  in  a 
moment  the  point  was  at  his  throat.  Herne  flung 
up  a  defending  arm,  and  took  it  through  his  flesh. 
He  knew  in  an  instant  that  he  was  outmatched. 
His  previous  struggles  had  weakened  him,  and  his 
adversary,  if  slight,  had  the  activity  of  a  serpent. 

For  a  few  breathless  seconds  they  swayed  and 
fought,  then  again  Herne  was  conscious  of  that 
deadly  point  piercing  his  shoulder.  With  a  sharp 
exclamation,  he  shifted  his  ground,  trod  on  a  loose 
stone,  and  sprawled  headlong  backward. 

He  fell  heavily,  so  heavily  that  all  the  breath 


358  Rosa  Mundi 

was  knocked  out  of  his  body,  and  he  could  only  lie, 
gasping  and  helpless,  expecting  death.  His  enemy 
was  upon  him  instantly,  and  he  marvelled  at  the 
man's  strength.  Sinewy  hands  encompassed  his 
wrists,  forcing  his  arms  above  his  head.  In  the 
darkness  he  could  not  see  his  face,  though  it  was 
close  to  his  own,  so  close  that  he  could  feel  his 
breathing,  quick  and  hard,  and  knew  that  it  had 
been  no  light  matter  to  master  him. 

He  himself  had  wholly  ceased  to  fight.  He  was 
bleeding  freely  from  the  shoulder,  and  a  dizzy 
sense  of  powerlessness  held  him  passive,  awaiting 
his  deathblow. 

But  still  his  adversary  stayed  his  hand.  The 
iron  grip  showed  no  sign  of  relaxing,  and  to  Herne, 
lying  at  his  mercy,  there  came  a  fierce  impatience 
at  the  man's  delay. 

"Curse  you!"  he  flung  upwards  from  between 
his  teeth.  "Why  can't  you  strike  and  have 
done?" 

His  brain  had  begun  to  reel.  He  was  scarcely 
in  full  possession  of  his  senses,  or  he  had  not 
wasted  his  breath  in  curses  upon  a  savage  who  was 
little  likely  to  understand  them.  But  the  moment 
he  had  spoken,  he  knew  in  some  subtle  fashion  that 
his  words  had  not  fallen  on  uncomprehending  ears. 

The  hands  that  held  him  relaxed  very  gradually. 
The  man  above  him  seemed  to  be  listening.  Herne 
had  a  fantastic  feeling  that  he  was  waiting  for 
something  further,  waiting  as  it  were  to  gather 
impetus  to  slay  him. 


The  Penalty  359 

And  then,  how  it  happened  he  had  no  notion, 
suddenly  he  was  aware  of  a  change,  felt  the  danger 
that  menaced  him  pass,  knew  a  surging  darkness 
that  he  took  for  death;  and  as  his  failing  senses 
slid  away  from  him  he  thought  he  heard  a  voice 
that  spoke  his  name. 

VI 

"  BE  still,  effendi!" 

It  was  no  more  than  a  whisper,  but  it  pierced 
Herne's  understanding  as  a  burst  of  light  through 
a  rent  curtain. 

He  opened  his  eyes  wide. 

"Hassan!"  he  said  faintly. 

"  I  am  here,  effendi."  Very  cautiously  came  the 
answer,  and  in  the  dimness  a  figure  familiar  to 
him  stooped  over  Herne. 

Herne  tried  to  raise  himself  and  failed  with  a 
groan.  It  was  as  if  a  red-hot  knife  had  stabbed 
his  shoulder. 

"What  happened?"  he  said. 

"The  effendi  is  wounded,"  the  Arab  made 
answer.  "We  are  the  prisoners  of  the  Mullah. 
The  Wandis  would  have  slain  us,  but  he  saved  us 
alive.  Doubtless  they  will  mutilate  us  presently 
as  they  are  mutilating  the  rest." 

Herne  set  his  teeth. 

"What  is  this  Mullah  like?"  he  asked,  after  a 
moment. 

"A  man  small   of   stature,   effendi,   but  very 


360  Rosa  Mundi 

fierce,  with  the  visage  of  a  devil.  The  Wandis  fear 
him  greatly.  When  he  looks  upon  them  with 
anger  they  flee." 

Herne's  eyes  were  striving  to  pierce  the  gloom. 

"Where  on  earth  are  we?"  he  said. 

"It  is  the  Mullah's  dwelling-place,  effendi,  at 
the  gate  of  the  City  of  Stones.  None  may  enter 
or  pass  out  without  his  knowledge.  His  slaves 
brought  me  hither  while  the  effendi  was  lying 
insensible.  He  cut  my  bonds  that  I  might  band 
age  the  effendi' s  shoulder." 

Again  Herne  sought  to  raise  himself,  and  with 
difficulty  succeeded.  He  could  make  out  but  little 
of  his  surroundings  in  the  gloom,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  close  to  the  spot  where  he  had 
received  his  wound,  for  the  murmur  of  the  spring 
•was  still  in  his  ears,  and  in  the  distance  the  yelling 
of  the  savages  continued.  But  he  was  faint  and 
dizzy  from  pain  and  loss  of  blood,  and  his  investi 
gations  did  not  carry  him  very  far.  For  a  while  he 
retained  his  consciousness,  but  presently  slipped 
into  a  stupor  of  exhaustion,  through  which  all 
outside  influences  soon  failed  to  penetrate. 

He  dreamed  after  a  time  that  Betty  Derwent 
and  he  were  sailing  alone  together  on  a  stormy  sea, 
striving  eternally  to  reach  an  island  where  the  sun 
shone  and  the  birds  sang,  and  being  for  ever  flung 
back  again  into  the  howling  waste  of  waters  till,  in 
agony  of  soul,  they  ceased  to  strive. 

Then  came  the  morning,  all  orange  and  gold, 
shining  pitilessly  down  upon  him,  and  he  awoke  to 


The  Penalty  361 

the  knowledge  that  Betty  was  far  away,  and  he 
was  tossing  alone  on  a  sea  that  yet  was  no  sea,  but 
an  endless  desert  of  sand.  Intense  physical  pain 
dawned  upon  him  at  the  same  time,  pain  that  was 
anguish,  thrilling  through  every  nerve,  so  that  he 
pleaded  feverishly  for  death,  not  knowing  what 
he  said. 

No  voice  answered  him.  No  help  came.  He 
rocked  on  and  on  in  torment  through  the  sandy 
desolation,  seeing  strange  visions  dissolve  before 
his  eyes,  hearing  sounds  to  which  his  tortured 
brain  could  give  no  meaning.  In  the  end,  he  lost 
himself  utterly  in  the  mazes  of  delirum,  and  all 
understanding  ceased. 

Long,  long  afterwards  he  came  back  as  it  were 
from  a  great  journey,  and  knew  that  Hassan  was 
waiting  upon  him,  ministering  to  him,  tending  him 
as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  He  was  too  weak  for 
speech,  almost  too  weak  to  open  his  eyes,  but  the 
life  was  still  beating  in  his  veins.  It  was  the  turn 
of  the  tide. 

Wearily  he  dragged  himself  back  from  the  end 
less  waste  in  which  he  had  wandered,  back  to 
sanity,  back  to  the  problems  of  life.  Hassan 
smiled  upon  him  as  a  mother  upon  her  infant, 
being  not  without  cause  for  self -congratulation  on 
his  own  account. 

"The  effendi  is  better,"  he  said.  "He  will  sleep 
and  live." 

And  Herne  slept,  as  a  child  sleeps,  for  many 
hours. 


362  Rosa  Mundi 

He  awoke  towards  sunset  to  hear  sounds  that 
made  him  marvel — the  cheerful  clatter  of  a  camp, 
the  voices  of  men,  the  protests  of  camels. 

It  took  him  back  to  that  last  evening  he  had 
spent  in  contact  with  civilization,  the  evening  he 
had  finally  set  himself  to  conquer  the  unknown, 
in  answer  to  a  voice  that  called.  How  much  of 
that  mission  had  he  accomplished,  he  asked  him 
self?  How  far  was  he  even  yet  from  his  goal? 

He  gazed  with  drawn  brows  at  the  narrow  walls 
of  the  tent  in  which  he  lay,  and  presently,  a  cer 
tain  measure  of  strength  returning  to  him,  he 
raised  himself  on  his  sound  arm  and  looked  about 
him. 

On  the  instant  he  perceived  the  faithful  Hassan 
watching  beside  him.  The  Arab  beamed  upon 
him  as  their  eyes  met. 

"All  is  well,  effendi,"  he  said.  "By  the  mercy 
of  Allah,  we  have  reached  the  Great  Desert,  and 
are  even  now  in  the  company  of  El  Azra,  the  spice 
merchant.  We  shall  travel  with  his  caravan  in 
safety." 

"  But  how  on  earth  did  we  get  here? "  questioned 
Herne. 

Hassan  was  eager  to  explain. 

"We  escaped  by  night  from  Wanda  three  days 
ago,  the  Prophet  of  the  Wandis  himself  assisting 
us.  You  were  wounded,  ejfendi,  and  without 
understanding.  The  Prophet  of  the  Wandis  bore 
you  on  his  camel.  It  was  a  journey  of  many 
dangers,  but  Allah  protected  us,  and  guided  us  to 


The  Penalty  363 

this  oasis,  sending  also  El  Azra  to  our  succour. 
It  is  a  strong  caravan,  effendi.  We  shall  be  safe 
with  him." 

But  here  Herne  suddenly  broke  in  upon  his 
complacence. 

"It  was  not  my  intention  to  leave  Wanda,"  he 
said,  "till  I  had  done  what  I  went  to  do.  I  must 
go  back." 

"Effendi!" 

"I  must  go  back!"  he  reiterated  with  force. 
"Do  you  think,  because  I  have  been  beaten 
once,  I  will  give  up  in  despair?  I  should  have 
thought  you  would  have  known  me  better  by 
now." 

"  But,  effendi,  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by 
going  back,"  Hassan  pleaded.  "The  man  you 
seek  is  dead,  and  we  are  already  fifty  miles 
from  Wanda." 

"How  do  you  know  he  is  dead?"  Herne 
demanded. 

"  From  the  mouth  of  the  Wandi  Prophet  himself, 
effendi.  He  asked  me  whence  you  came  and 
wherefore,  and  when  I  told  him,  he  said,  'The  man 
is  dead."' 

"Is  this  Prophet  still  with  us?"  Herne  asked. 

"Yes,  effendi,  he  is  here.  But  he  speaks  no 
tongue  save  his  own.  And  he  is  a  terrible  man, 
with  the  face  of  a  devil." 

"Bring  him  to  me!"  Herne  said. 

"  He  will  come,  effendi;  but  he  will  only  speak  of 
himself.  He  will  not  answer  questions." 


364  Rosa  Mundi 

"Enough!  Fetch  him !"  Herne  of dered.  "And 
you  remain  and  interpret!" 

But  when  Hassan  was  gone,  his  weakness 
returned  upon  him,  and  the  bitterness  of  defeat 
made  itself  felt.  Was  this  the  end  of  his  long 
struggle,  to  be  overwhelmed  at  last  by  the  odds 
he  had  so  bravely  dared  ?  It  was  almost  unthink 
able.  He  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  it.  And 
yet  at  the  heart  of  him  lurked  the  conviction  that 
failure  was  to  be  his  portion.  He  had  attempted 
the  impossible.  He  had  offered  himself  in  vain; 
and  any  further  sacrifice  could  only  end  in  the 
same  way.  If  Bobby  Duncannon  were  indeed 
dead,  his  task  was  done;  but  he  had  felt  so  assured 
that  he  still  lived  that  he  could  not  bring  himself 
to  expel  the  belief.  It  was  the  lack  of  knowledge 
that  he  could  not  endure,  the  thought  of  returning 
to  the  woman  he  loved  empty-handed,  of  seeing 
once  more  the  soul-hunger  in  her  eyes,  and  being 
unable  to  satisfy  it. 

No,  he  could  not  face  it.  He  would  have  to  go 
back,  even  though  it  meant  to  his  destruction, 
unless  this  Mad  Prophet  could  furnish  him  with 
proof  incontestable  of  young  Duncannon 's  death. 
He  glanced  with  impatience  towards  the  entrance. 
Why  did  the  man  delay? 

He  supposed  the  fellow  would  want  backsheesh, 
and  that  thought  sent  him  searching  among  his 
tattered  clothing  for  his  pocket-book.  He  found 
it  with  relief;  and  then  again  physical  weakness 
asserted  itself,  and  he  leaned  back  with  closed  eyes. 


The  Penalty  365 

His  shoulder  was  throbbing  with  a  fiery  pain.  He 
wondered  if  Hassan  knew  how  to  treat  it.  If  not, 
things  would  probably  get  serious. 

The  buzzing  of  a  multitude  of  flies  distracted  his 
thoughts  from  this,  and  he  began  to  long  ardently 
for  a  smoke.  He  roused  himself  to  hunt  for  his 
cigarette-case;  but  he  sought  in  vain  and  finally 
desisted  with  a  groan. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  the  tent-flap  was  drawn 
aside,  admitting  for  a  moment  the  marvellous 
orange  glow  of  the  sinking  sun,  and  a  man  attired 
as  an  Arab  came  noiselessly  in. 


VII 


HERNE  lay  quite  still,  regarding  his  visitor  with 
critical  eyes. 

The  latter  stood  with  his  back  to  the  western 
glow.  His  face  was  more  than  half  concealed  by 
one  end  of  his  turban.  He  made  no  advance,  but 
stood  like  a  brazen  image,  motionless,  inscrutable, 
seeming  scarcely  aware  of  the  Englishman's 
presence. 

It  was  Herne  who  broke  the  silence.  The  light 
was  failing  very  rapidly.  He  raised  his  voice 
with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

' '  Hassan,  where  are  you  ? ' ' 

At  that  the  stranger  moved,  as  one  coming  out 
of  a  deep  reverie. 


366  Rosa  Mundi 

"There  is  no  need  to  call  your  servant,"  he  said, 
halting  slightly  over  the  words.  "I  speak  your 
language." 

Herne  opened  his  eyes  in  surprise.  He  knew 
that  many  of  the  Wandis  had  come  in  contact  with 
Englishmen,  but  few  of  them  could  be  said  to  have 
a  knowledge  of  the  language.  He  saw  at  a  glance 
that  the  man  before  him  was  no  ordinary  Wandi 
warrior.  His  build  was  too  insignificant,  more 
suggestive  of  the  Arab  than  the  negro.  His  hands 
were  like  the  hands  of  an  Egyptian  mummy,  dark  of 
hue  and  incredibly  bony.  He  wished  he  could  see 
the  fellow's  face.  Hassan's  description  had  fired 
his  curiosity. 

"So,"  he  said,  "you  speak  English,  do  you?  I 
am  glad  to  hear  it.  And  you  are  the  Mullah  of 
Wanda,  the  man  who  saved  my  life? " 

He  received  no  reply  whatever  from  the  man  in 
the  doorway.  It  was  as  if  he  had  not  spoken. 

Herne  frowned.  It  seemed  likely  to  be  an 
unsatisfactory  interview  after  all.  But  just  as  he 
was  about  to  launch  upon  a  fresh  attempt,  the  man 
spoke,  in  a  slow,  deep  voice  that  was  not  without 
a  certain  richness  of  tone. 

"You  came  to  Wanda — my  prisoner,"  he  said. 
"You  left  because  I  do  not  kill  white  men,  and  they 
are  not  good  slaves.  But  if  you  return  to  Wanda 
you  will  die.  Therefore  be  wise,  and  go  back  to 
your  people,  as  I  go  to  mine ! " 

Herne  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  position.  His 
shoulder  was  beginning  to  hurt  him  intolerably, 


The  Penalty  367 

but  he  strove  desperately  to  keep  it  in  the  back 
ground  of  his  consciousness. 

"Why  don't  you  kill  white  men?' '  he  said. 

But  the  question  was  treated  with  a  silence  that 
felt  contemptuous. 

The  glow  without  was  fading  swiftly,  and  the 
darkness  was  creeping  up  like  a  curtain  over  the 
desert.  The  weird  figure  standing  upright  against 
the  door-flap  seemed  to  take  on  a  deeper  mystery, 
a  silence  more  unfathomable. 

Herne  began  to  feel  as  if  he  were  in  a  dream. 
If  the  man  had  not  spoken  he  would  have  won 
dered  if  his  very  presence  were  but  hallucination. 

He  gathered  his  wits  for  another  effort. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said,  "  do  you  never  use  white  men 
as  slaves?" 

Still  that  uncompromising  silence. 

Herne  persevered. 

"Three  years  ago,  before  the  Wandis  conquered 
the  Zambas,  there  was  a  white  man,  an  English 
man,  who  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and  taught 
them  to  fight.  I  am  here  to  seek  him.  I  shall  not 
leave  without  news  of  him." 

"The  Englishman  is  dead!"  It  was  as  if  a 
mummy  uttered  the  words.  The  speaker  neither 
stirred  nor  looked  at  Herne.  He  seemed  to  be 
gazing  into  space. 

Herne  waited  for  more,  but  none  came. 

"I  want  proof  of  his  death,"  he  said,  speaking 
very  deliberately.  "I  must  know  beyond  all 
doubt  when  and  how  he  died." 


368  Rosa  Mundi 

"The  Englishman  was  burned  with  the  other 
captives,"  the  slow,  indifferent  voice  went  on. 
"He  died  in  the  fire!" 

"What?"  said  Herne,  with  violence.  "You 
devil!  I  don't  believe  it!  I  thought  you  did  not 
kill  white  men!" 

"He  was  not  as  other  white  men,"  came  the 
unmoved  reply.  "The  Wandis  feared  his  magic. 
Fire  alone  can  destroy  magic.  He  died  slowly  but 
-he  died!" 

"You  devil!"  Herne  said  again. 

His  hand  was  fumbling  feverishly  at  his  band 
aged  shoulder.  He  scarcely  knew  what  he  was 
doing.  In  his  impotent  fury  he  sought  only  for 
freedom,  not  caring  how  he  obtained  it.  Never 
in  the  whole  of  his  life  had  he  longed  so  over- 
poweringly  to  crush  a  man's  throat  between  his 
hands. 

But  his  strength  was  unequal  to  the  effort.  He 
sank  back,  gasping,  half-fainting,  yet  struggling 
fiercely  against  his  weakness.  Suddenly  he  was 
aware  of  the  blood  welling  up  to  his  injured 
shoulder.  He  knew  in  an  instant  that  the  wound 
had  burst  out  afresh;  knew,  too,  that  the  bandage 
would  be  of  no  avail  to  check  the  flow. 

"Fetch  Hassan!"  he  jerked  out. 

But  the  man  before  him  made  no  movement  to 
obey. 

"Are  you  going  to  stand  by,  you  infernal  fiend, 
and  watch  me  die?"  Herne  flung  at  him. 

A   thick   mist   was   beginning   to   obscure  his 


The  Penalty  369 

vision,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  those  last  words  of 
his  took  effect.     Undoubtedly  the  man  moved, 
came  nearer,  stooped  over  him. 

"Go!"  Herne  gasped.     "Go!" 

He  could  feel  the  blood  soaking  through  the 
bandage  under  his  hand,  spreading  farther  every 
instant. 

This  was  to  be  the  end,  then,  to  lie  at  the  mercy 
of  this  madman  till  death  came  to  blot  out  all 
his  efforts,  all  his  hopes.  He  made  a  last  feeble 
effort  to  stanch  that  deadly  flow,failed,  sank  down 
exhausted. 

It  was  then  that  a  voice  came  to  him  out  of  the 
gathering  darkness,  quick  and  urgent,  speaking  to 
him,  as  it  were,  across  the  gulf  of  years: 

"Monty,  Monty,  lie  still,  man!  I'll  see  to 
you!" 

That  voice  recalled  Herne,  renewed  his  failing 
faculties,  galvanized  him  into  life.  The  man  with 
the  mummy's  hands  was  bending  over  him,  strip 
ping  away  the  useless  bandage,  fashioning  it  anew 
for  the  moment's  emergency.  In  a  few  seconds  he 
was  working  at  it  with  pitiless  strength,  twisting 
and  twisting  again  till  the  tension  told,  and  Herne 
forced  back  a  groan. 

But  he  clung  to  consciousness  with  all  his  quiver 
ing  strength,  bewildered,  unbelieving  still,  yet 
hovering  on  the  edge  of  conviction. 

"Is  it  really  you,  Bobby?"  he  whispered.  "I 
can't  believe  it !  Let  me  look  at  you !  Let  me  see 
for  myself!" 

24 


3?o  Rosa  Mundi 

The  man  beside  him  made  no  answer.  He  had 
snatched  up  the  first  thing  he  could  find,  a  frag 
ment  of  a  broken  tent-peg,  to  tighten  the  pressure 
upon  the  wound. 

But,  as  if  in  response  to  Herne's  appeal,  he  freed 
one  hand  momentarily,  and  pushed  back  the  cover 
ing  from  his  face.  And  in  the  dim  light  Herne 
looked,  looked  closely;  then  shut  his  eyes  and  sank 
back  with  an  uncontrollable  shudder. 

' '  Merciful  Heaven ! "  he  said. 


VIII 

" MONTY,  I  say!    Monty!" 

Again  the  gulf  of  years  was  bridged;  again  the 
voice  he  knew  came  down  to  him.  Herne  wrestled 
with  himself,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

The  man  in  Arab  dress  was  still  kneeling  by  his 
side,  the  skeleton  hands  still  supported  him,  but 
the  face  was  veiled  again. 

He  suppressed  another  violent  shudder. 

"In  Heaven's  name,"  he  said,  "what  are  you?" 

"I  am  a  dead  man,"  came  the  answer.  "Don't 
move!  I  will  call  your  man  in  a  moment,  but  I 
must  speak  to  you  first.  Do  you  feel  all  right?" 

"Bobby!"  Herne  said. 

"No,  I  am  not  Bobby.  He  died,  you  know, 
ages  ago.  They  cut  him  up  and  burned  him. 
Don't  move.  I  have  stopped  the  bleeding,  but 
it  will  easily  start  again.  Lean  back — so!  You 


The  Penalty  37 i 

needn't  look  at  me.  You  will  never  see  me  again. 
But  if  I  hadn't  shown  you — once,  you  would  never 
have  understood.  Are  you  comfortable?  Can 
you  listen?" 

"Bobby!"  Herne  said  again. 

He  seemed  incapable  of  anything  but  that  one 
word,  spoken  over  and  over,  as  though  trying  to 
make  himself  believe  the  incredible. 

"I  am  not  Bobby,"  the  voice  reiterated.  "Put 
that  out  of  your  mind  for  ever!  He  belonged 
to  another  life,  another  world.  Don't  you  believe 
me?  Must  I  show  you — again?  Do  you  really 
want  to  talk  with  me  face  to  face?" 

"Yes,"  Herne  said,  with  abrupt  resolution.  "I 
will  see  you — talk  with  you — as  you  are." 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  and  he  braced  himself 
to  face,  without  blenching,  the  thing  that  a  mo 
ment  before,  his  soldier's  training  notwithstanding, 
had  turned  him  sick  with  horror.  But  he  was 
spared  the  ordeal. 

"There  is  no  need,"  said  the  familiar  voice. 
"You  have  seen  enough.  I  don't  want  to  haunt 
you,  even  though  I  am  dead.  What  put  it  into  your 
head  to  come  in  search  of  me?  You  must  have 
known  I  should  be  long  past  any  help  from  you." 

"I — wanted  to  know,"  Herne  said.  He  was 
feeling  curiously  helpless,  as  if,  in  truth,  he  were 
talking  with  a  mummy.  All  the  questions  he 
desired  to  put  remained  unuttered.  He  was 
confronted  with  the  impossible,  and  he  was  power 
less  to  deal  with  it. 


372  Rosa  Mundi 

"What  did  you  want  to  know?  How  I  died? 
And  when?  It  was  a  thousand  years  ago,  when 
those  damned  Wandis  swallowed  up  the  Zambas. 
They  took  me  first — by  treachery.  Then  they 
wiped  out  the  entire  tribe.  The  poor  devils  were 
lost  without  me.  I  always  knew  they  would  be — 
but  they  made  a  gallant  fight  for  it."  A  thrill  of 
feeling  crept  into  the  monotonous  voice,  a  tinge  of 
the  old  abounding  pride,  but  it  was  gone  on  the 
instant,  as  if  it  had  not  been.  "They  slaughtered 
them  all  in  the  end,"  came  in  level,  dispassionate 
tones,  "and,  last  of  all,  they  killed  me.  It  was  a 
slow  process,  but  very  complete.  I  needn't  har 
row  your  feelings.  Only  be  quite  sure  I  am  dead ! 
The  thing  that  used  to  be  my  body  was  turned 
into  an  abomination  that  no  sane  creature  could 
look  upon  without  a  shudder.  And  as  for  my  soul, 
devils  took  possession,  so  that  even  the  Wandis 
were  afraid.  They  dare  not  touch  me  now.  I 
have  trampled  them,  I  have  tortured  them,  I 
have  killed  them.  They  fly  from  me  like  sheep. 
Yet,  if  I  lead,  they  follow.  They  think,  because 
I  have  conquered  them,  that  I  am  invincible, 
invulnerable,  immortal.  They  cringe  before  me 
as  if  I  were  a  god.  They  would  offer  me  human 
sacrifice  if  I  would  have  it.  I  am  their  talisman, 
their  mascot,  their  safeguard  from  defeat,  their 
luck — a  dead  man,  Herne,  a  dead  man!  Can't 
you  see  the  joke?  Why  don't  you  laugh?" 

Again  the  grim  voice  thrilled  as  if  some  fiendish 
mirth  stirred  it  to  life. 


The  Penalty  373 

Herne  moved  and  groaned,  but  spoke  no  word. 

"What?  You  don't  see  it?  You  never  had 
much  sense  of  humour.  And  yet  it's  a  good  thing 
to  laugh  when  you  can.  We  savages  don't  know 
how  to  laugh.  We  only  yell.  That  is  all  you 
wanted  to  know,  is  it?  You  will  go  back  now 
with  an  easy  mind?" 

"As  if  that  could  be  all!"  Herne  muttered. 

"That  is  all.  And  count  yourself  lucky  that  I 
haven't  killed  you.  It  was  touch  and  go  that 
night  you  attacked  me.  You  may  die  yet." 

"I  may.  But  it  won't  be  your  fault  if  I  do. 
Great  Heaven,  I  might  have  killed  you!" 

"So  you  might."  Again  came  that  quiver  of 
dreadful  laughter.  "That  would  have  been  the 
end  of  the  story  for  everyone,  for  you  wouldn't 
have  got  away  without  me.  But  that  was  no  part 
of  the  program.  Even  you  couldn't  kill  a  dead 
man.  Feel  that,  if  you  don't  believe  me!"  Sud 
denly  one  of  the  shrivelled,  mummy  hands  came 
down  to  his  own.  "How  much  life  is  there  in 
that?" 

Herne  gripped  the  hand.  It  was  cold  and 
clammy;  he  could  feel  every  separate  bone  under 
the  skin.  He  could  almost  hear  them  grind 
together  in  his  hold.  He  repressed  another 
shudder;  and  even  as  he  did  it,  he  heard  again  the 
bitter  cry  of  a  woman's  wrung  heart,  "Bobby  is 
still  alive  and  wanting  me." 

Would  she  say  that  when  she  knew?  Would 
she  still  reach  out  her  hands  to  this  monstrous 


374  Rosa  Mundi 

wreck  of  humanity,  this  shattered  ruin  of  what  had 
once  been  a  tower  of  splendid  strength?  Would 
she  feel  bound  to  offer  herself?  Was  her  love 
sufficient  to  compass  such  a  sacrifice?  The  bare 
thought  revolted  him. 

"Are   you    satisfied?"    asked    the   voice    that 
seemed  to  him  like  a  mocking  echo  of  Bobby's 
ardent  tones.     "Why  don't  you  speak?" 

A  great  struggle  was  going  on  in  Herne's  soul. 
For  Betty's  sake — for  Betty's  sake — should  he 
hold  his  peace?  Should  he  take  upon  himself  a 
responsibility  that  was  not  his?  Should  he  deny 
this  man  the  chance  that  was  his  by  right — the 
awful  chance — of  returning  to  her?  The  tempt 
ation  urged  him  strongly;  the  fight  was  fierce. 
But — was  it  because  he  still  grasped  that  bony 
hand? — he  conquered  in  the  end. 

"I  haven't  told  you  yet  why  I  came  to  look  for 
you,"  he  said. 

"Is  it  worth  while?"  The  question  was  pecu 
liarly  deliberate,  yet  not  wholly  cynical. 

Desperately  Herne  compelled  himself  to  answer. 

"You  have  got  to  know  it,  seeing  it  was  not  for 
my  own  satisfaction — primarily — that  I  came." 

"Why  then?"  The  brief  query  held  scant 
interest ;  but  the  hand  he  still  grasped  stirred  ever 
so  slightly  in  his. 

Herne  set  his  teeth. 

"Because — someone — wanted  you." 

"No  one  ever  wanted  me,"  said  the  Wandi 
Mullah  curtly. 


The  Penalty  375 

But  Heme  had  tackled  his  task,  and  he  pursued 
it  unflinching. 

"I  came  for  the  sake  of  a  woman  who  once — long 
ago — refused  to  marry  you,  but  who  has  been 
waiting  for  you — ever  since." 

' '  A  woman  ? ' '  Undoubtedly  there  was  a  savage 
note  in  the  words.  The  shrunken  fingers  clenched 
upon  Herne's  hand. 

"Betty  Derwent,"  said  Herne  very  quietly. 

Dead  silence  fell  in  the  darkened  tent — the  si 
lence  of  the  desert,  subtle,  intense,  in  a  fashion 
terrible.  It  lasted  for  a  long  time ;  so  long  a  time 
that  Herne  suffered  himself  at  last  to  relax,  feeling 
the  strain  to  be  more  than  he  could  bear.  He 
leaned  among  his  pillows,  and  waited.  Yet 
still,  persistently,  he  grasped  that  cold,  sinuous 
hand,  though  the  very  touch  of  it  repelled  him,  as 
the  touch  of  a  reptile  provokes  instinctive  loath 
ing.  It  lay  quite  passive  in  his  own,  a  thing 
inanimate,  yet  horribly  possessed  of  life. 

Slowly  at  last  through  the  darkness  a  voice 
came : 

"Monty!" 

It  was  hardly  more  than  a  whisper;  yet  on  the 
instant,  as  if  by  magic,  all  Herne's  repulsion,  his 
involuntary,  irrepressible  shrinking,  was  gone. 
He  was  back  once  more  on  the  other  side  of  the 
gulf,  and  the  hand  he  held  was  the  hand  of  a  friend. 

"My  dear  old  chap!"  he  said  very  gently. 

Vaguely  he  discerned  the  figure  by  his  side.  It 
sat  huddled,  mummy-like  but  it  held  no  horrors  for 


376  Rosa  Mundi 

him  any  longer.     They  were  not  face  to  face  in 
that  moment — they  were  soul  to  soul. 

"I  say — Monty,"  stumblingly  came  the  words, 
"you  know — I  never  dreamed  of  this.  I  thought 
she  would  have  married — long  ago.  And  she  has 
been  waiting — all  these  years?" 

"All  these  years,"  Herne  said. 

' '  Do  you  think  she  has  suffered  ? ' '  There  was  a 
certain  sharpness  in  the  question,  as  if  it  were  hard 
to  utter. 

And  Herne,  pledged  to  honesty,  made  brief  reply : 

"Yes." 

There  followed  a  pause ;  then : 

"Will  it  grieve  her — very  badly — to  know  that 
I  am  dead?"  asked  the  voice  beside  him. 

"Yes,  it  will  grieve  her."  Herne  spoke  as  if 
compelled. 

"But  she  will  get  over  it,  eh?" 

"I  believe  so."  Herne's  lips  were  dry;  he 
forced  them  to  utterance. 

The  free  hand  fastened  claw-like  upon  his  arm. 

"You'll  tell  me  the  straight  truth,  man,"  said 
Bobby's  voice  in  his  ear.  "What  if  I — came  to 
life?" 

But  Herne  was  silent.  He  could  not  bring 
himself  to  answer. 

"Speak  out!"  urged  the  voice — Bobby's  voice, 
quick,  insistent,  even  imploring.  "Don't  be 
afraid !  I  haven't  any  feelings  left  worth  consider 
ing.  She  wouldn't  get  over  that,  you  think?  No 
woman  could!" 


The  Penalty  377 

Herne  turned  in  desperation,  and  faced  his 
questioner. 

"God  knows!"  he  said  helplessly. 

Again  there  fell  a  silence,  such  a  silence  as  falls 
in  a  death-chamber  at  the  moment  of  the  spirit's 
passing.  The  darkness  was  deepening.  Herne 
could  scarcely  discern  the  figure  by  his  side. 

The  hand  upon  his  arm  had  grown  slack.  All 
vitality  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  it.  It  was  as 
though  the  spirit  had  passed  indeed.  And  in  the 
stillness  Herne  knew  that  he  was  recrossing  the 
gulf,  that  his  friend — the  boy  he  had  known  and 
loved — was  receding  rapidly,  rapidly  behind  the 
veil  of  years,  would  soon  be  lost  to  him  for  ever. 

The  voice  that  spoke  to  him  at  length  was  the 
voice  of  a  stranger. 

"Remember,"  it  said,  "Bobby  Duncannon  is 
dead — has  been  dead  for  years!  Let  no  woman 
waste  her  life  waiting  for  him,  for  he  will  never 
return !  Let  her  marry  instead  the  man  who  wants 
her,  and  put  the  empty  years  behind !  In  no  other 
way  will  she  find  happiness." 

"  But  you  ? "  Herne  groaned.     ' '  You  ? ' ' 

The  hand  he  held  had  slipped  from  his  grasp. 
Through  the  dimness  he  saw  the  man  beside  him 
rise  to  his  feet.  A  moment  he  stood;  then  flung 
up  his  arms  above  his  head  in  a  fierce  gesture  of 
renunciation  that  sent  a  stab  of  recollection 
through  Herne. 

"  I !  I  go  to  my  people ! "  said  the  Prophet  of  the 
Wandis.  "And  you — will  go  to  yours." 


378  Rosa  Mundi 

It  was  final,  and  Herne  knew  it;  yet  his  heart 
cried  out  within  him  for  the  friend  he  had  lost. 
Suddenly  he  found  he  could  not  bear  it. 

"Bobby!  Bobby!"  he  burst  forth  impulsively. 
"Stop,  man,  stop  and  think!  There  must  be  some 
other  way.  You  can't — you  shan't — go  back!" 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  said,  so  great  was  his 
distress.  The  gulf  was  widening,  widening,  and 
he  was  powerless.  He  knew  that  it  could  never 
be  bridged  again. 

"It's  too  big  a  forfeit,"  he  urged  very  earnestly. 
"You  can't  do  it.  I  won't  suffer  it.  For  Betty's 
sake — Bobby,  come  back!" 

And  then,  for  the  last  time,  he  heard  his  friend's 
voice  across  the  ever-widening  gulf. 

"For  Betty's  sake,  old  chap,  I  am  a  dead  man. 
Remember  that!  It's  you  who  must  go  back  to 
her.  Marry  her,  love  her,  make  her — forget ! " 

For  an  instant  those  mummy  hands  rested  upon 
him,  held  him,  caressed  him;  it  was  almost  as  if 
they  blessed  him.  For  an  instant  the  veil  was 
lifted;  they  were  comrades  together.  Then  it 
fell.  .  .  . 

There  came  a  quiet  movement,  the  sound  of 
departing  feet. 

Herne  turned  and  blindly  searched  the  darkness. 
Across  the  gulf  he  cried  to  his  friend  to  return  to 
him. 

"Bobby,  come  back,  lad,  come  back!  We'll 
find  some  other  way." 

But  there  came  no  voice  in  answer,  no  sound  of 


The  Penalty  379 

any  sort.     The  desert  had  received  back  its  secret. 
He  was  alone. 


IX 


"Now,  don't  bother  any  more  about  me!" 
commanded  Betty  Derwent,  establishing  herself 
with  an  air  of  finality  on  the  edge  of  the  trout 
stream  to  which  she  had  just  suffered  herself  to  be 
conducted  by  her  companion.  "I  am  quite  cap 
able  of  baiting  my  own  hook  if  necessary.  You 
run  along  up-stream  and  have  some  sport  on  your 
own  account!" 

The  companion,  a  very  young  college  man, 
looked  decidedly  blank  over  this  kindly  dismissal. 
He  had  been  manoeuvring  to  get  Betty  all  to  him 
self  for  days,  but,  since  everybody  seemed  to  want 
her,  it  had  been  no  easy  matter.  And  now,  to  his 
disgust,  just  as  he  was  congratulating  himself  upon 
having  gained  his  end  and  secured  a  tete-d-tete  that, 
with  luck,  might  last  for  hours,  he  was  coolly  told 
to  run  along  and  amuse  himself  while  she  fished  in 
solitude. 

"I  say,  you  know,"  he  protested,  "that's  rather 
hard  lines." 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  said  Betty.  "I  came  out 
to  catch  fish,  not  to  talk.  And  you  are  going  to 
do  the  same." 

"Oh,  confound  the  fish!"  said  the  luckless  one. 

Nevertheless,   he  yielded,   seeing  that  it   was 


380  Rosa  Mundi 

expected  of  him,  and  took  himself  off,  albeit 
reluctantly. 

Betty  watched  him  go,  with  a  faint  smile.  He 
was  a  nice  boy  undoubtedly,  but  she  much  pre 
ferred  him  at  a  distance. 

She  sat  down  on  the  bank  above  the  trout- 
stream,  and  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket.  It  had 
reached  her  the  previous  day,  and  she  had  already 
read  it  many  times.  This  fact,  however,  did  not 
deter  her  from  reading  it  yet  again,  her  chin  upon 
her  hand.  It  was  not  a  lengthy  epistle. 

"DEAR  BETTY,"  it  said,  "I  am  back  from  my 
wanderings,  and  I  am  coming  straight  to  you ;  but 
I  want  you  to  get  this  letter  first,  in  time  to  stop 
me,  if  you  feel  so  inclined.  It  is  useless  for  me  to 
attempt  to  soften  what  I  have  to  say.  I  can  only 
put  it  briefly,  just  because  I  know — too  well— 
what  it  will  mean  to  you.  Betty,  the  boy  is  dead, 
has  been  dead  for  years.  How  he  died  and  exactly 
when,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  have  certified  the  fact 
of  his  death  beyond  all  question.  He  died  at  the 
hands  of  the  Wandis,  when  his  own  men,  the 
Zambas,  were  defeated.  So  much  I  heard  from 
the  Wandi  Mullah  himself,  and  more  than  that  I 
cannot  tell  you.  My  dear,  that  is  the  end  of  your 
romance,  and  I  know  that  you  will  never  weave 
another.  But,  that  notwithstanding,  I  am  coming 
— now,  if  you  will  have  me — later,  if  you  desire  it 
—to  claim  you  for  myself.  Your  happiness  always 
has  and  always  will  come  first  with  me,  and  neither 


The  Penalty  381 

now  nor  hereafter  shall  I  ever  ask  of  you  more 
than  you  are  disposed  to  give. — Ever  yours, 

"MONTAGUE  HERNE." 

Very  slowly  Betty's  eyes  travelled  over  the  paper. 
She  read  right  to  the  end,  and  then  suffered  her 
eyes  to  rest  for  a  long  time  upon  the  signature. 
Her  fishing-rod  lay  forgotten  on  the  ground  beside 
her.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply. 

Once,  rather  suddenly,  she  moved  to  look  at  the 
watch  on  her  wrist.  It  was  drawing  towards  noon. 
She  had  sent  no  message  to  delay  him.  Would 
he  have  travelled  by  the  night  train?  But  she 
dismissed  that  conjecture  as  unlikely.  Herne  was 
not  a  man  to  do  anything  headlong.  He  would 
give  her  ample  time.  She  almost  wished — she 
checked  the  sigh  that  rose  to  her  lips.  No,  it  was 
better  as  it  was.  A  man's  ardour  was  different 
from  a  boy's;  and  she — she  was  a  girl  no  longer. 
Her  romance  was  dead. 

A  slight  sound  beside  her,  a  footstep  on  the 
grass!  She  turned,  looked,  sprang  to  her  feet. 
The  vivid  colour  rushed  up  over  her  face. 

"You!"  she  gasped,  almost  inarticulately. 

He  had  come  by  the  night  train  after  all. 

He  came  up  to  her  quite  quietly,  with  that 
leisureliness  of  gait  that  she  remembered  so  well. 

"Didn't  you  expect  me?"  he  said. 

She  held  out  a  hand  that  trembled. 

"Yes,  I — I  knew  you  would  come;  only,  you  see, 
I  hardly  thought  you  would  get  here  so  soon." 


382  Rosa  Mundi 

"  But  you  meant  me  to  come?"  he  said. 

His  hand  held  hers  closely,  warmly,  reassuringly. 
He  looked  into  her  face. 

For  a  few  seconds  she  evaded  the  look  with  a 
shyness  beyond  her  control;  then  resolutely  she 
mastered  herself  and  met  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  meant  you  to  come.  I  am  glad  you  are 
back.  I—  She  broke  off  suddenly,  gazing  at 
him  in  consternation.  "Monty,"  she  exclaimed, 
"you  never  told  me  you  had  been  ill!" 

He  smiled  at  that,  and  her  agitation  began  to 
subside. 

"I  am  well  again,  Betty,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  you  don't  look  it,"  she  protested. 
"You  look — you  look  as  if  you  had  suffered — 
horribly.  Have  you?" 

He  passed  the  question  by.  "At  least,  I  have 
managed  to  come  back  again,"  he  said,  "as  I 
promised." 

"I — I  am  thankful  to  see  you  again," 
she  faltered  her  shyness  returning  upon  her. 
"I've  been — desperately  anxious." 

"On  my  account?"  said  Herne. 

She  bent  her  head.     "Yes." 

"Lest  I  shouldn't  come  back?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  again. 

"  But  I  told  you  I  should,"  He  was  still  holding 
her  hand,  trying  to  read  her  downcast  face. 

"Oh,  I  knew  you  would  if  you  could,"  said 
Betty.  "  Only — I  couldn't  help  thinking — of  what 
you  said  about — about  sacrificing  substance  to — 


The  Penalty  383 

shadow.  It — was  very  wrong  of  me  to  send 
you." 

She  spoke  unevenly,  with  obvious  effort.  She 
seemed  determined  that  he  should  not  have  that 
glimpse  into  her  soul  which  he  so  evidently  desired. 

"My  dear  Betty,"  he  said,  "I  went  on  my  own 
account  as  much  as  on  yours.  I  think  you  forget 
that.  Or  are  you  remembering — and  regretting— 
it?" 

She  had  begun  to  tremble.  He  laid  a  steadying 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"No,"  she  said  faintly.  Then  swiftly,  impul 
sively,  she  raised  her  face.  "Major  Herne,  I — I 
want  to  tell  you  something — before  you  say  any 
more." 

"What  is  it,  Betty?"  he  said. 

"Just  this,"  she  made  answer,  speaking  very 
quickly.  "I — I  am  not  good  enough  for  you.  I 
haven't  been — straight  with  you.  I've  been 
realizing  it  more  and  more  ever  since  you  went 
away.  I — I'm  quite  despicable.  I've  been 
miserable  about  it — wretched — all  the  time  you 
have  been  away." 

Herne's  face  changed.  A  certain  grimness  came 
into  it. 

"But,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "you  never  pre 
tended  to  be  in  love  with  me." 

She  drew  a  sharp  breath  of  distress. 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "I  know.  And  I  let  you 
go  to  that  dreadful  place,  though  I  knew — before 
you  went — that,  whatever  happened,  it  could  make 


384  Rosa  Mundi 

no  difference  to  me.  But  I  hadn't  the  courage 
to  tell  you  the  truth.  After  what  passed  between 
us  that  night,  I  felt — I  couldn't.  And  so — and 
so — I  let  you  go,  even  though  I  knew  I  was  deceiv 
ing  you.  Oh,  do  forgive  me  if  you  can!  I've 
had  my  punishment.  I  have  been  nearly  mad 
with  anxiety  lest  any  harm  should  come  to  you." 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  grateful  for  that," 
Herne  said.  He  still  looked  grim,  but  there  was 
no  anger  about  him.  He  had  taken  his  hand  from 
her  shoulder,  but  he  still  held  her  trembling 
fingers  in  his  quiet  grasp.  "Don't  fret!"  he  said. 
"Where's  the  use?  I  shall  get  over  it  somehow. 
If  you  are  quite  sure  you  know  your  own  mind, 
there  is  no  more  to  be  said."  He  spoke  with  no 
shadow  of  emotion.  His  eyes  looked  into  hers 
with  absolute  steadiness.  He  even,  after  a 
moment,  very  faintly  smiled.  "Except  good 
bye!"  he  said.  "And  perhaps  the  sooner  I  say 
that  the  better." 

But  at  this  point  Betty  broke  in  upon  him 
breathlessly,  almost  incoherently. 

"Major  Herne,  I — I  don't  understand.  You — 
you  can  say  good-bye,  of  course — if  you  wish. 
But — it  will  be  by  your  own  choice  if  you  do." 

"What?  "he  said. 

She  snatched  her  hand  suddenly  from  him. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  to  punish  me,  to  make  me 
pay  for  my — idiocy.  You — you  think 

"I  think  that  either  you  or  I  must  be  mad,"  said 
Herne. 


The  Penalty  385 

"Then  it's  you!"  flung  back  Betty  half  hyster 
ically.  "To  imagine  for  one  moment  that  I — that 
I  meant — that!" 

"Meant  what?"  A  sudden  note  of  sternness 
made  itself  heard  in  Herne's  voice.  He  moved  a 
step  forward,  and  took  her  shoulders  between  his 
hands,  looking  at  her  closely,  unsparingly. 
"Betty,"  he  said,  "let  us  at  least  understand 
one  another!  Tell  me  what  you  meant  just 
now!" 

She  faced  him  defiantly. 

"I  didn't  mean  anything." 

He  passed  that  by. 

"Why  did  you  ask  my  forgiveness? " 

She  made  a  sharp  gesture  of  repudiation. 

"What  was  there  to  forgive?"  he  insisted. 

"I — I  am  not  going  to  tell  you,"  said  Betty, 
with  great  distinctness. 

Again  he  overlooked  her  open  defiance. 

"You  are  afraid.     Why?" 

"I'm  not!"  said  Betty  almost  fiercely. 

"You  are  afraid,"  he  repeated  deliberately, 
"afraid  of  my  finding  out — something.  Betty, 
look  at  me!" 

Her  face  was  scarlet.  She  turned  it  swiftly  from 
him. 

"Let  me  go!" 

' '  Look  at  me ! "  he  repeated. 

She  began  to  pant.  She  was  quivering  between 
his  hands  like  a  wild  thing  caught.  "Major 
Herne,  it  isn't  fair  of  you!  Let  me  go!" 

25 


386  Rosa  Mundi 

"Never,  Betty!"  He  spoke  with  sudden  de 
cision;  but  all  the  grimness  had  gone  from  his 
face.  "You  may  as  well  give  in,  for  I  have  you 
at  my  mercy.  And  I  will  be  merciful  if  you  do, 
but  not  otherwise." 

"How  dare  you? "  gasped  Betty  almost  inarticu 
lately. 

"I  dare  do  many  things,"  said  Montague  Herne; 
with  a  smile  that  was  not  all  mirthful.  "How 
long  have  you  left  off  crying  for  the  moon  ?  Tell 
me!" 

"I  won't  tell  you  anything!"  protested  Betty. 

"Yes,  you  will.  I  have  got  to  know  it.  If  you 
will  only  give  in  like  a  wise  woman,  you  will  find 
it  much  easier." 

His  voice  held  persuasion  this  time.  For  a  little 
she  made  as  if  she  would  continue  to  resist  him; 
then  impulsively  she  yielded. 

' '  Oh,  Monty ! "  she  said,  with  a  sob ;  and  the  next 
moment  was  in  his  arms. 

He  held  her  close. 

"Come!"  he  said.     "You  can  tell  me  now." 

"I — don't  know,"  whispered  Betty,  her  face 
hidden.  "You — frightened  me  by  being  so  ready 
to  go  away  again.  I  couldn't  help  wondering  if  it 
had  been  just  kindness  that  prompted  you  to  come 
to  me.  It — I  suppose  it  wasn't?"  A  startled 
note  of  interrogation  sounded  in  her  voice.  She 
was  trembling  still. 

"Betty,  Betty!"  he  said. 

"Forgive  me!"  she  whispered  back,  "You  see, 


The  Penalty  387 

I  couldn't  have  endured  that,  because  I — love  you. 
No,  wait;  I  haven't  finished.  I  want  you  to  know 
the  truth.  I've  been  sacrificing  substance  to 
shadow,  reality  to  dreams,  all  my  life — all  my  life. 
But  that  night — the  night  I  took  you  into  my 
confidence — you  opened  my  eyes.  I  began  to  see 
what  I  was  doing.  But  I  hadn't  the  courage  to 
tell  you  so,  and  it  seemed  not  quite  fair  to  Bobby 
so  I  held  my  peace. 

"I  let  you  go.  But  I  knew — I  knew  before  you 
went — that  even  if  you  found  him,  even  if  you 
brought  him  back,  even  if  he  cared  for  me  still,  I 
should  have  nothing  to  give  him.  My  feeling  for 
him  was  just  a  dream  from  which  I  had  awakened. 
Oh,  Monty,  I  was  yours  even  then;  and  I  kept  it 
back.  That  was  why  I  wanted  your  forgiveness." 

Breathlessly  she  ended,  and  in  silence  he  heard 
her  out.  He  was  holding  her  very  closely  to  him, 
but  his  eyes  looked  beyond  her,  as  though  they 
searched  a  far  horizon. 

"Do  you  understand? "  whispered  Betty  at  last. 

He  moved,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes  changed.  It 
was  as  if  the  horizon  narrowed. 

"I  understand,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face,  with  a  gesture  half  shy,  half 
confiding. 

"Are  you  going  to  forgive  me,  Monty?  I — I've 
paid  a  big  price  for  my  foolishness — bigger  than 
you  will  ever  know.  I  kept  asking  myself — ask 
ing  myself — whatever  I  should  do  if  you — if  you 
brought  him  back." 


388  Rosa  Mundi 

' '  Poor  child ! "  he  said.     ' '  Poor  little  Betty ! ' ' 

She  clung  to  him  suddenly. 

"Oh,  wasn't  I  an  idiot?  And  yet,  somehow,  I 
feel  so  treacherous.  Monty — Monty,  you're  sure 
he  is  dead?" 

"Yes,  he  is  dead,"  said  Herne  deliberately. 

She  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  I'm  so  thankful  he  never  knew ! "  she  said.  ' '  I 
—I  don't  suppose  he  really  cared,  do  you?  Not 
enough  to  spoil  his  life?" 

"God  knows!"  said  Montague  Herne  very 
gravely. 


"Hullo!"  said  Betty's  fellow-sportsman,  making 
his  appearance  some  time  later.  "Getting  on  for 
grub-time,  eh?  How  have  you  got  on?  Why,  I 
thought  you  came  out  to  fish,  and  not  to  talk! 
Who  on  earth " 

"My  fiance,"  said  Betty  quickly. 

"Your—  Hullo!  Why,  it's  Major  Herne! 
Delighted  to  see  you!  Had  no  idea  you  were  in 
this  country.  Thought  you  were  hunting  big 
game  somewhere  in  Africa." 

"I  was,"  said  Herne.  "I — had  no  luck.  So  I 
came  home." 

"Where — presumably — you  found  it!  Con 
gratulations  !  Betty,  I 'm  pleased ! ' ' 

"How  nice  of  you!"  said  Betty. 

"Yes,  it  is  rather,  all  things  considered.  How 
ever,  I  suppose  even  I  must  regard  it  as  a  blessing 


The  Penalty  389 

in  disguise.  Perhaps,  when  you  are  married,  you 
will  kindly  leave  off  breaking  all  our  hearts  for 
nothing!" 

' '  Perhaps  you  will  leave  off  being  so  foolish  as  to 
let  them  be  broken,"  returned  Betty,  with  spirit. 

"Ah,  perhaps!  Not  very  likely  though  I  fear. 
Hearts  are  tender  things — eh,  Major  Herne?  And 
when  someone  like  Betty  comes  along  there  is  sure 
to  be  some  damage  done.  It's  the  penalty  we  have 
to  pay  for  being  only  human." 

"Ah,  well,  you  soon  get  over  it,"  said  Betty 
quickly. 

"How  do  you  know  that?  I  may  perhaps,  if 
I'm  lucky;  but  there  are  exceptions  to  every  rule. 
Some  of  us  go  on  paying  the  penalty  all  our  lives." 

A  moment's  silence  followed  the  light  words. 
Betty  apparently  had  nothing  to  say. 

And  then :  "And  some  of  us  don't  even  know  the 
meaning  of  the  word !"  said  Montague  Herne. 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  UBRARY 


DATE  DUE 


Cl  39 


UCSD  Libr. 


A        QQQo9i™™llt 


